


come on darling, let's be lovers

by shoebox_addict



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Public Transit, Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, Fat Shaming, Gabriel loves only himself, Gaslighting, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, London Underground, M/M, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Therapy, Verbal Abuse, and maybe fancy scarves?, it happened one night on the central line, sharing food is a love language, their communication improves I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 62,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24683035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoebox_addict/pseuds/shoebox_addict
Summary: “I love the waistcoat.”The man beamed at him. “Thank you. I know it’s a rather old-fashioned style, but it makes me feel put together for the day.”“Makes you look put together, too,” said Crowley, and nearly bit his own tongue. “I mean, that is...you always look very nice.”Now it was definitely not his imagination; the man’s eyes were practically twinkling.[Written for the Good AUmens Fest]
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 886
Kudos: 817
Collections: Good AUmens AU Fest, Good Omens Human AUs, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Our Own Side





	1. just some heartburn, baby

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to @bisasterdi, who has done a wonderful job running this event. I haven’t written a chaptered fic in quite a long time, so I hope I was able to pull something off here. Also, yes -- all of the chapter names come from lyrics on Carly Rae Jepsen’s amazing album, “Dedicated.” Don’t ask me why. The heart wants what it wants. Enjoy (I hope)!

“I saw Snappy Dresser again this morning.” 

Anathema looked up from her computer, where nothing interesting was happening. “Full report, please.” 

Crowley set his messenger bag on the floor of his cubicle and leaned over the dividing wall. “Deep, deep blue shirt that made his eyes look so gorgeous. Tan waistcoat and trousers, and the waistcoat had the slightest bit of blue stitching to match the shirt. Plus, this insanely old-fashioned coat that would look ridiculous on anyone else.” 

“Did you say anything?” asked Anathema. When Crowley shook his head, she groaned. “You’ve told me he dresses like this every day, right? You have the perfect intro -- just compliment him.”

Crowley shrugged his shoulders, and it became a sort of shudder. “It just feels weird, I dunno. Who compliments strangers on the train? Stalkers, that’s who.” 

“Well, you’re already sort of stalking him,” said Anathema, with a smirk.

“I am _not,_ said Crowley. “It’s not as though I’ve followed him off the train to see where he works.”

“But you’re curious, right?”

Crowley spluttered. “Who wouldn’t be curious? The man’s a bloody peacock, what could he possibly do for a living?”

“Something in high-end fashion, perhaps,” said Anathema. “Or, even better, he has a totally mundane job and he just likes getting dressed up.” 

“God, that would be better,” said Crowley. He laid his head down on his arms and sighed. “He’s beautiful, Anathema. Like, actually beautiful.” 

Anathema raised one eyebrow at him. “Say something to him. _Anything._ ”

“Yeah, right,” said Crowley, rolling his eyes. “First I’ll buy myself a fucking three-piece suit so he’ll even deign to look at me.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Paul Smith Scarf.” 

Crowley pushed himself off the dividing wall and removed his striped scarf with a flourish. Anathema laughed at him and went back to triaging her inbox. As he logged in and got his computer running for the day, Crowley imagined what might happen if he did approach Snappy Dresser. Anathema was right, he had an organic way to strike up a conversation with him, but something was holding him back. He wasn’t worried about the man’s proclivities -- he’d worn a rotating variety of rainbow socks during Pride Month, slivers of them showing beneath his neatly tailored trousers. It wasn’t even a fear of rejection; Crowley had become well-practiced in flirting, and he didn’t doubt his skills. 

When it came down to it, he supposed it was the strong hunch that Snappy Dresser already had a boyfriend. There was something about the way he carried himself, the way he boldly wore all those magnificent outfits, that spoke of a security that Crowley could only dream of. And since he had this hunch, there was absolutely no point in speaking to the man and confirming it. He would rather ignore the hunch and simply imagine ways they might meet.

* * * * * *

“Was Slenderman on the train this morning?”

Aziraphale looked up from the manuscript he was marking and sighed. “I really wish you wouldn’t call him that.” 

Though he gave no indication that he wanted her to, Tracy flounced into his office and sat down on one of the chairs facing his desk. “You told me he’s all gangly, nothing but limbs.”

“I said nothing of the sort,” said Aziraphale, shaking his head. He made a quick mark at the edge of his page to remind himself where he’d left off. “If I recall, I said that he was _trim_.”

Tracy shrugged. “Must’ve elaborated in my mind, then.”

“Yes, you must have,” said Aziraphale. He removed his glasses, set them down on the desk, and rubbed both eyes roughly. “Did you come in here for...for anything in particular?” 

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Tracy leaned in with a slightly deranged grin on her face. “What’s your favorite flavor of cake?” 

“Oh, now, I did ask you not to make a fuss about my birthday,” said Aziraphale. He moved to put his glasses back on, then lowered them again and looked at her. “But if you must know, it’s chocolate raspberry truffle.”

“Ha!” said Tracy, pulling out her phone to jot down his preference. “I knew you’d have an opinion. And stop with all this “no fuss” nonsense, because it’s not every day a man turns fifty, I’ll have you know.”

“Yes, and I do so love to be reminded of that milestone,” said Aziraphale. 

“There’s nothing to be self-conscious about, dear,” Tracy assured him. “Are you doing anything special for it?”

Aziraphale couldn't hold back a broad smile. “Gabriel has made dinner reservations at The Ritz.” 

“Really?” said Tracy, eyes wide. “I’m surprised, it doesn’t really seem like him.” 

“What do you mean? He appreciates fine dining as much as I do.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Before Aziraphale could defend Gabriel, Tracy scurried away, possibly to order a very large cake. He knew that no one in the office was very fond of Gabriel, and he wasn’t quite sure why. Though he did remember an incident at the Christmas party years earlier, when Gabriel had made some very pointed remarks about tarot cards. Tracy had seemed to take that personally, and she’d been making snide remarks ever since. That must be it; Gabriel could be quite opinionated at times. 

When he returned to the manuscript on his desk, Aziraphale found that he could no longer concentrate. It wasn’t his impending birthday dinner that occupied his thoughts, but rather the fellow that Tracy so callously called “Slenderman.” He’d seen him on the Tube several times and had once made the mistake of mentioning him at work. He was sure he’d merely been observing something about the man’s wardrobe, and Tracy had blown it completely out of proportion. 

But the man kept showing up on his morning and evening trains, usually holding his phone two inches away from his face, reading something that was clearly absorbing. It was likely the news, as the man was often scowling at his phone. Aziraphale had often had the urge to catch the man’s eye, or perhaps ask what he was reading. But he’d never acted upon it, for various reasons, chief among them his relationship status. Although he was also convinced that the man, who was often wearing designer sunglasses, was far too hip to be interested in him.

* * * * * *

On his way home one evening, Crowley happened to glance up from his phone just as Snappy Dresser got on the train. The man looked slightly harangued, but just as well turned out as usual. Crowley’s gaze darted between him and his phone, trying to be as subtle as possible while also admiring the man’s powder blue jumper. Snappy Dresser grabbed a seat and pulled a book out of his satchel. Crowley stared just a bit too long, and their eyes locked for a moment. To Crowley’s surprise, Snappy Dresser gave him a small smile and nod.

In the grand scheme of things, the moment was actual crumbs. But Crowley gladly took those crumbs, swiftly extrapolating the smile to mean that Snappy Dresser had noticed him as well, and the nod to mean that they were commuters in arms and would likely see each other again. Perhaps next time there would be _conversation._

Overwhelmed by the brief moment of contact, Crowley kept his eyes diligently glued to his phone for the rest of his journey. He only allowed himself to glance up again when they reached Tottenham Court Road, and he noticed Snappy Dresser leaving. Crowley stared down at his phone again, trying very hard not to think about the fact that he sort of almost knew where the man lived. 

Crowley got off at Bond Street and made his way to his flat, which was housed in a rather posh building on Gilbert Street. His accommodations were not an indicator of his own wealth so much as they were a remnant from a kindly old uncle who’d taken a shine to him and left him a tidy sum. Old Uncle Herbert had promised him something, but when Crowley heard the actual amount at the will reading, a distant cousin had had to stop him falling over. Sure, he could have invested it and made it grow or something, but he just wanted to live in London, in a nice place. 

Over the course of twenty years, Crowley had collected an assortment of sleek furniture and random pieces of art he found in charity shops. It took him a long time to save up and find things to get his flat looking just the way he wanted, and now it was his sanctuary. Only a handful of boyfriends had actually seen inside the sanctuary. Most of his so-called relationships had been casual, and he’d never quite felt comfortable letting them see his place. That was usually a dealbreaker, if the guy cared enough about him to make it an issue.

In the lift, Crowley tugged at his tie, wanting to prep for taking the day off as quickly as possible. As soon as he set foot inside the flat, his messenger bag hit the floor and his jacket was slung up on its usual hook. He ambled into the bedroom, undoing his trousers as he went. As he exchanged his work clothes for slouchy grey sweats, Crowley fired off a quick text to Anathema: _Eye contact was made. Details tomorrow._

The reply came quickly, _Make notes. Don’t you dare forget anything._

Dinner was leftover spaghetti bolognese, eaten on the couch with a rerun of “Golden Girls” up on his flat-screen TV. For a moment -- just a moment -- he allowed himself the self-pity of realizing what a stereotypical old queen he was. Then he let his mind drift in other directions, mainly toward Snappy Dresser. What would he have for dinner on a Tuesday evening? Probably roasted quail with mint sauce, or something else that matched that wardrobe.

Or, Crowley thought, perhaps he was curled up on his own couch, over on Tottenham Court Road (he wished he didn’t have that little detail of his life), eating leftovers and watching something trashy. He’d never dare to think that the man might be thinking of him, the stranger from the Tube. 

No, in fact, this was all far too dangerous. Crowley forced himself to pay attention to his show, to concentrate on eating his dinner, and to very deliberately not think about that intriguing man.

* * * * * *

Crowley must have been smiling as he passed by Anathema’s desk, en route to his own, a few days later. Because as soon as he’d set down his bag, she was peppering him for the day’s “report.”

“Tartan,” he said. “Actual, full-on tartan.”

“What? A tartan tie? Socks?”

Crowley shook his head. “Waistcoat. The whole bloody thing was tartan.” 

Anathema gestured on either side of her head and made an explosion noise. “Mind blown. This is next level sartorial extravagance. Do you think he’s from some unbearably rich family?”

Crowley shrugged. “I dunno, but he’s definitely eaten quail for supper.” 

“What?”

“Nothing. Nevermind,” said Crowley. “That’s not all. He was reading a Georgette Heyer novel.”

“Who’s she?”

“Oh, she wrote a bunch of regency romance novels. My nan had a shelf full of them, and I read them all one summer.”

Anathema fixed him with a stare. “Talk. To. Him.” 

Crowley sighed dramatically. “Leave me alone, mum.”

“No, but seriously. You talk about this guy all the bloody time, and now it turns out you have the same taste in weird, old books?”

“I didn’t say I liked them, I just read them,” Crowley protested. But he had liked them; they’d been the perfect way to fill long summer afternoons, all lush and charming.

“I’m just saying,” said Anathema. “That you would probably have something to talk about.” 

“I need to work up to it,” said Crowley, chewing at his lip. “I need to really think of something to say, and how to say it.”

Anathema rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to rehearse for a simple ‘hello.’”

“Maybe you don’t,” scoffed Crowley.

* * * * * *

Crowley was half asleep, his hips aching so much that he wasn’t sure whether standing or sitting would help most. For now he’d grabbed a seat and was running a hand along his right thigh, massaging the muscle and trying to distract himself. The pain was fickle, disappearing for days only to return when it was about to rain, or for no reason at all. It had only hit him when he’d reached the station, and he had pills in his bag but he was rubbish at dry swallowing them. He only had to make it to the office, and then wait until the meds kicked in.

As distracted as he was, Crowley didn’t miss Snappy Dresser when he got on the train. He sat down and pulled out his Heyer novel -- he was nearing the end, and Crowley wondered what his next read might be. Again, he tried not to stare, but the man’s burgundy waistcoat and shiny brown oxfords were a great distraction from the pain in his bones. 

After one stop, a heavily pregnant women got on the train, and Snappy Dresser shot up from his seat as though it had been set on fire. He smiled kindly at the woman and gestured to the seat. She thanked him and complimented his waistcoat, and Snappy Dresser said something that Crowley couldn’t hear. Then he grasped the overhead bar and went right on reading his book, keeping it perched artfully in his free hand. 

It was a simple act of commuter courtesy, and it should not have made Crowley’s heart beat as fast as it did. But he was suddenly overcome by a strong feeling of “this is the moment.” He tried not to think too far ahead, he tried not to predict the course of the conversation. He simply hauled himself up out of his seat, ignoring the pain that shot down his leg, and made his way to where Snappy Dresser stood.

“Hiya,” he said, fixing the man with his best flirty-and-friendly smile. 

“Hello,” the man replied, and Crowley hoped he wasn’t imagining the way his eyes lit up. 

“That was nice, what you did there,” said Crowley.

“Oh, she needs the seat more than I do.” 

“Still, very nice.” Crowley mentally punched himself, begging his brain to offer up something interesting. “I love the waistcoat.” 

The man beamed at him. “Thank you. I know it’s a rather old-fashioned style, but it makes me feel put together for the day.”

“Makes you look put together, too,” said Crowley, and nearly bit his own tongue. “I mean, that is...you always look very nice.”

Now it was definitely not his imagination; the man’s eyes were practically twinkling. “That’s lovely of you to say. I admire your classic look -- and please don’t take that as a slight. The suit and tie look is a standard for a reason, and you wear it very well.” 

“Ngk,” said Crowley, all his words gummed up somewhere at the back of his throat. “Thanks, that’s, er...thanks. Hey, I love the book, by the way.”

“Do you? I didn’t think many people knew Georgette Heyer.”

“I, er, actually read her when I was growing up,” said Crowley. “My nan had a bunch of her stuff, and I was bored.” 

“How delightful,” said Snappy Dresser, and he really seemed to mean it. “You know, I work in publishing, and we’re launching a new line of historical romances soon. There will be some Heyer-esque material in there, you can count on it.”

“Publishing,” said Crowley. “I would have sworn you were in fashion.”

The man laughed, a bright and cheerful sound that came from deep in his chest. “Fashion? Goodness, no. All of this is purely recreational, and I doubt I would fit in with today’s trends.” 

“Nah, why bother with trends? I think you look amazing.” 

Snappy Dresser beamed at him again and opened his mouth to say something. But at that very moment, Crowley glanced out the window and saw they were at his stop.

“Oh, fuck,” he said. “I’m so sorry, but this is my stop. I...I can’t be late for work.”

“Not to worry,” the man replied, nodding to him. “Have a splendid day!”

On the platform, and as he made his way up to the street, Crowley replayed the conversation in his head, weighing whether or not to share it with Anathema. It felt momentous, like something he should keep just for himself. As he neared the office, two things rose to the top of his mind -- he should have asked for the man’s name, and he should have just been late to work.

* * * * * *

Aziraphale hadn’t seen the man from the train for nearly a week. He was sorely regretting not asking his name when they’d spoken, because he refused to call him ‘Slenderman,’ even in his own head. Actually speaking to him had made him far more fascinating than only observing him from afar. This was proving to be a problem, as Aziraphale kept thinking about him. Who knew someone that aloof and chic would enjoy Georgette Heyer?

On Aziraphale’s birthday, Gabriel woke him up with soft kisses along his back. In a surprise move (because they hadn’t made love in ages), Gabriel reached across Aziraphale’s ample hip to take him in hand. Aziraphale came embarrassingly quickly and tried not to be insulted when he offered to return the favor and was rebuffed. Instead, Gabriel wrapped one arm around Aziraphale’s chest and rutted against him from behind. When he was finished, he wished him a happy birthday and ambled away to take a shower. 

Gabriel left for work first, leaving Aziraphale to his preferred morning routine of tea and breakfast. He substituted raspberry jam for the peanut butter he usually spread on his toast and played Schubert on his phone as he cleaned up the kitchen afterward. He made a point of wearing his most favorite clothes -- tan trousers, light blue dress shirt, waistcoat, and tartan bowtie. He completed the ensemble with his Victorian-style topcoat. Yes, the bowtie was a bit much, but it made him feel good, and one should feel good on one’s birthday. 

He tried not to be too disappointed when the red-haired man was nowhere to be seen on his morning commute. 

“Well, don’t you look like a million pounds?” said Tracy, grinning at him when he got to the office. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied. “How’s the Ellsworth manuscript coming along?” 

“Swimmingly,” said Tracy. “Newt is working up some social media posts to promote the new line of books as well.”

Aziraphale dropped his bag and looked at her, stricken. “Surely he’s not --” 

Tracy held up her hands. “Don’t worry, we’re not allowing him near any computers. Or tablets, or phones, for that matter. He’s just the strategy man.”

“Thank goodness for that. Pepper can put up the actual posts.” 

Tracy nodded. “That’s the plan. Say, any Slenderman sightings?” 

Aziraphale frowned. “As a matter of fact, yes. And you can stop using that awful name. From what I understand, that urban legend is terrifying. But the man from the train is anything but...he likes my waistcoats.” 

“Really, now?” Tracy gave him a smug smile. “You, er, talked to him?”

“Just for a moment,” said Aziraphale. “He...he approached me. He said I always look put together.”

“That’s quite interesting,” said Tracy. “Haven’t you always told me that Gabriel complains about your dress sense?” 

“I don’t know what you’re implying.” Aziraphale placed his spectacles on his nose and logged into his computer, ignoring the way Tracy was pointedly staring at him. 

“Right, well. Cake is at two-thirty, so clear your schedule.” 

Aziraphale, in fact, did know what Tracy was implying. He was rather ashamed to say that he’d implied it to himself several times since his conversation with the man on the train. One evening he’d implied it while in the shower, a hand over his mouth to muffle his moans. It was embarrassing to have a crush at his age, especially when he was already in a committed relationship. There was no point in thinking any further about it, though he knew that he would. 

The cake was wonderful, and Aziraphale wished he could have taken a slice home. He would have if he wasn’t going straight from the office to the Ritz. It had been a while since he and Gabriel had been on a night out, and Aziraphale was hoping this would afford them the chance to reconnect. Something had felt off between them of late, and Aziraphale was sure it was normal for a couple who’d been together for several years. But still it discomfited him, and Gabriel’s surprise birthday plans had given him hope of a chance for improvement. 

_Heading out now,_ he texted Gabriel as he packed up his satchel. _I’ll wait for you outside the Ritz._

There came no response, but Aziraphale assumed Gabriel was on the train with no signal. As Aziraphale made his way to the famed hotel, he found himself glancing around the platform and the train, looking for the red-haired man. There was no sign of him, which was probably for the best. 

On the way from the station, it began to rain. Aziraphale ducked under an awning so he could pull his compact umbrella from his satchel, and then he carried on. The wind kicked up and threatened to carry his umbrella away, but Aziraphale held on tightly with one hand. With his other, he reached into his pocket to check his mobile -- still no messages. 

Aziraphale saw the Ritz long before he reached it -- it was a large, majestic building, all lit up like a beacon in the rainy dusk. Feeling a bit breathless at finally being there, Aziraphale ducked into one of the archways in front of the building and collapsed his umbrella, setting it at his feet. He would wait for fifteen minutes, he told himself, and if Gabriel had not arrived by then he would check again for messages. 

After twenty-five minutes, there was no sign of Gabriel either in the flesh or on his phone. Aziraphale felt torn, not knowing if he should be worried about him or furious with him. He glanced to the left and right one more time, but didn’t see him anywhere. Aziraphale was cold, and they were in danger of losing their reservation. With chilled fingers, he dialed Gabriel and waited. 

“Hello?” 

“Are you all right, dear?”

“Of course, I’m fine,” said Gabriel. He sounded casual enough, not as though he were under any duress from kidnappers, or perhaps lying in a hospital bed with a concussion. “What do you need, love?” 

“Gabriel, I’m...I’m outside the Ritz.” 

There was a pause. “Oh, _fuck_. Oh, fuck, Aziraphale, I’m so sorry. Shit, our reservation is in ten minutes.”

“You still have time to get here,” said Aziraphale, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. “Did something hold you up?”

Gabriel sighed. “Yeah, a huge case came in this afternoon and I’ve been up to my elbows in discovery ever since. I didn’t forget. I promise you, I didn’t forget.”

Aziraphale took several deep breaths, trying to remain calm. “I’m sure you didn’t. Do you think you can make it here?”

Another pause, and then the sound of Gabriel sucking a breath in past his teeth. “I gotta be honest with you, I don’t think I can.”

Aziraphale watched the heavy rain drops hit the pavement just beyond the arched overhang of the Ritz. He glanced back, at the warmly lit interior of the grand hotel. It was within reach, he’d nearly made it inside. “I see.” 

“I know how much you were looking forward to it,” said Gabriel. “Damnit, this case couldn’t have come in at a worse time.” 

Aziraphale felt that this warranted an argument, or some kind of hissy fit on his part. It was, after all, his birthday, and there was a song about crying if one wanted to. But he found that he was too tired to make the effort. “Yes, rather inopportune.”

“I bet you could go in on your own,” Gabriel suggested. “I mean, you’re there, and the reservation is under your name.” 

That was odd, Aziraphale thought. Why wouldn’t Gabriel have made the reservation under his own name? Unless perhaps he hadn’t expected to be there? But that felt like reaching, so Aziraphale shook his head and said, “Perhaps I could. On balance, I think I’d be better off heading home and curling up with a good book.” 

Gabriel chuckled softly. “Of course. Listen, I really am so sorry. I’ll be home by eleven, and I’ll try to make it up to you then.” 

Aziraphale forced himself to smile and flirt back, and then he quickly said goodbye. He knew that if he stayed on the phone any longer, he would cry. He allowed himself a moment, just one, in which he gripped his phone tightly and felt the anger and sadness well up in his chest. Then it ebbed, and he composed himself, and he took one last look at the Ritz. With a deep breath, he put his umbrella back up and walked out onto the pavement. 

The rain was coming down harder now, and it was making quite a racket against his umbrella. Aziraphale focused on the sound, letting it ground him as he headed for home. Soon he could see the Tube stop in the distance, just one block away, and as he crossed the intersection, a strong wind came barreling down the street. Aziraphale felt the wind swoop into his umbrella and turn it inside out as though it were a sheet of newsprint. 

“Oh, blast it all!” he exclaimed, aware that pedestrians were looking at him. He grappled with the broken mess of his umbrella, getting wetter all the while, until eventually he righted it. But it was too mangled now to keep him dry, so he simply shoved it under his arm and hastened toward the station. 

By the time he made it onto the train, Aziraphale was soaked through. He collapsed into a seat at the far end of the car and dropped his useless umbrella at his feet. It was a complete and utter betrayal -- he’d been so close to the station, couldn’t it have held out a bit longer? He looked forward to chucking it in the nearest bin when he got off the train. It wouldn’t help him on his walk home anyway, he might as well toss it. 

The train was too quiet. Sitting there alone with nothing else to fill up his brain, Aziraphale ran over the finer details of his conversation with Gabriel. He’d said that he hadn’t forgotten, but how could that be true? Clearly he’d gotten wrapped up in his work, which was obviously more important to him than his relationship, and he’d abandoned Aziraphale on his birthday. What would he say to Tracy the next morning at work? He would have to lie; he couldn’t bear to see the pity and concern on her face if he were to tell the truth. With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. 

“Hello? Er, excuse me?” 

Aziraphale shot up, startled and unaware of how much time had passed. He’d just wanted to rest his eyes for a moment. As he blinked against the train’s bright light, a familiar shape coalesced in front of him. It was the red-haired man from his morning commute. 

“Oh,” he said, keenly aware of how damp he must be. “It’s you. Yes, hello.”

“Hi.” said the man, with a little wave. “Sorry, I really don’t mean to pry, but are you all right?”

Aziraphale smiled, touched that he would ask. “I’m afraid I got caught in the rain on the way to the station, and my useless umbrella left me stranded.”

“God, that’s the worst,” said the man. “Do you, er...can I sit with you?”

Aziraphale sat up straighter and gestured to the empty seat beside him. “By all means.” 

The man sat down heavily and let out a breath. “I’m Crowley, by the way. Anthony Crowley.” 

“Aziraphale Fell.” Crowley let out a long, low whistle, and Aziraphale smirked at him. “Yes, I know.” 

“Seems fitting,” said Crowley. “That someone who wears such extravagant clothes should have such an interesting name.” 

“Why, thank you. Are you heading home? Stayed late at the office?” 

“Had drinks with some mates,” said Crowley. “Well, one. My only mate, really.” 

“Still, that’s nice.”

“You?” 

Aziraphale froze, caught at a crossroads. This man was a complete stranger to him, they were ships passing in the night. And yet he felt a sort of kinship with him. So far Crowley had only been kind to him, smiling across the train car and then complimenting his clothes. Now he’d made the effort to ask if he was all right, when he could have easily seen Aziraphale’s sad, wet self and hurried in the opposite direction. 

“It’s my birthday, actually,” he said, at last.

“No way,” said Crowley, grinning at him. “Many happy returns!”

Aziraphale blinked several times, willing himself not to cry. “Thank you, that’s very kind. I’m sad to say it’s been rather a difficult evening. I had a dinner date, and he stood me up.” 

Crowley gaped at him. “On your birthday? Fucking bastard.” 

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “He is, a bit.”

“Doesn’t deserve you, that’s all,” Crowley continued. “I hope you told him off.”

Aziraphale gave him the vague facsimile of a smile. “Oh, yes, of course.” 

“Right. Well. Your birthday’s just one day out of a year, innit? People put too much stock in birthdays, if you ask me. You’ve got three hundred and sixty-four more days in this new year of your life, and I’m sure you’ve got many better ones ahead of you.” 

As Crowley rambled, Aziraphale’s smile slowly became more genuine. The man was wearing tinted glasses, and his face seemed to be made of elastic. Every emotion was writ large in his features, and his red hair shone brilliantly in the fluorescent lights of the train. If he were a different person, someone who took risks and lived life more fully, Aziraphale would grab Crowley by the lapels and snog him senseless. He would probably never see him again, but he’d cherish the memory of the handsome man he’d snogged on his fiftieth birthday.

But Aziraphale was himself, and he could only ever be that. So he simply smiled at Crowley and listened as he talked in circles about how overrated birthdays were. 

Though Aziraphale would have listened to Crowley all night, eventually he had to leave the train. “I’m afraid my stop is next.” 

“Ah,” said Crowley. “Hey, listen, before you go, let me give you this.” 

To Aziraphale’s surprise, Crowley held out his own umbrella. “Oh. I can’t take your umbrella.” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, because you’ll get soaked on your way home.” 

“Come on. It’s your bloody birthday, after all,” said Crowley.

“I’m already wet, I’m a lost cause,” said Aziraphale, gesturing to his clothes.

Crowley shook his head. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

This could be it, Aziraphale thought. They were pulling into Tottenham Court, he’d have to hurry off the train in just a moment. He could take Crowley’s umbrella and just kiss him, all spontaneous, like something from a book. Crowley was looking at him with such a kind expression, somehow discernible despite the tinted glasses. When the train came to a halt, Aziraphale sighed and took the umbrella. 

“Thank you so much,” he said, hurrying to the doors. “I’ll try to return it, I promise.”

“No need!” said Crowley, waving him off. “It’s a birthday gift.”

Standing on the platform, Aziraphale raised the umbrella to Crowley as the train pulled away. Crowley raised his hand in response, and then he was out of sight. 

That night, when Gabriel finally made it home from the office, he crawled into bed beside Aziraphale and performed his requisite apologies. Just as Aziraphale was growing tired of the word _sorry_ , Gabriel kissed him tenderly and said ‘happy birthday,’ with one large thumb brushing gently at Aziraphale’s cheek. Then he slid his way down Aziraphale’s body and made it up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are so inclined, I’m @truncated-symphony on tumblr. I have not stopped screaming about Good Omens for about a year now. 
> 
> I currently have three more chapters completely written, and the entire story is drafted. My plan is to post updates weekly on Friday, but hey! Who knows what’ll happen next in this crazy ‘ol world?
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated, thank you for reading. <3


	2. starry eyes, blurry eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Actually, er, would you like to have dinner with me? Not tonight, obviously, because I do probably need to go home and lie in bed. But some other time. Maybe next week? Anywhere you like, I’m not picky. And I know we just met, but I can guarantee I won’t stand you up like that other bloke. Certainly not on your birthday.”

Crowley couldn’t resist patting himself on the back for his idea to give Aziraphale his umbrella. _Aziraphale_ , what an absurd name. And yet it paired so perfectly with the tartan waistcoat, the Georgette Heyer novels, the rainbow socks. He’d walked out of the station that night into a full-on downpour, but he couldn’t have cared less. The wet walk home was tempered by the memory of Aziraphale smiling at him as he’d rambled about birthdays, his damp hair drying into fluffy tufts. The thought that someone could stand him up (on his _birthday_ ) was laughable. 

“So is this your version of ‘working up to it’?” said Anathema, when he told her all about it the next morning. “You just give him all your worldly possessions, one by one, until you finally ask him out?” 

Crowley shrugged. “Why not? I’ll move onto books next, and maybe that’ll fast track me.”

Anathema smirked at him. “I just hope you don’t catch cold.”

“Who, me? Don’t be ridiculous.” 

By lunchtime, Crowley could feel it coming on. The tickle at the back of his throat, the aching in his bones, and the increasing inability to concentrate on work all spelled his doom. On his way home, the universe took pity on him and did not bring Aziraphale onto his train. He ambled home, downed some cold medicine, and fell promptly asleep.

The next morning he felt...passable. Although his face was leaking in ways he’d prefer it not to. He must have been feverish, because all he could think about was potentially seeing Aziraphale on the train, and that single-minded focus got him into a suit and out of his flat. Crowley felt like rubbish warmed over, and his hips were acting up, but all of that was momentarily wiped away when he saw Aziraphale step onto the train. He was wearing a midnight blue cravat with tiny white polka dots. When he caught sight of Crowley, his face lit up and he made his way through the crush of commuters to stand with him.

“Good morning,” he said, and then his face fell. “Oh, dear. Are you quite well?” 

“Could be better,” said Crowley, hating the way his voice croaked its way out of his throat. “Just a little cold, nothing to worry about.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “I expect this is because you walked home in the rain without your umbrella, because you’d foolishly given it to a stranger on the train.”

Crowley did his best to smirk in an alluring fashion. “We’re not strangers. We’ve been properly introduced, we’re free to make conversation.” 

This earned him one of Aziraphale’s sunshine smiles, and Crowley would have sworn that it cleared his nasal passages. 

“Yes, well. In any case, I’m glad I’ve run into you. Now I can return your umbrella.”

“Thanks,” said Crowley. As he reached out to take it back, he felt a sneeze creeping up on him. He hastily thrust his face into the crook of his elbow and proceeded to sneeze four times in a row. When he was sure it was over, Crowley came up for air and saw Aziraphale eyeing him with concern. 

“You shouldn’t be going into work, my dear,” he said. “You should be at home, under a blanket, perhaps with some chicken soup.” 

“Nah, it’s fine,” said Crowley, and then he sneezed two more times.

“You’re _ill,_ ” said Aziraphale, as he rummaged in the pocket of his coat. “I can’t help but feel it’s my fault. Here, have a tissue.” 

Crowley took the tissue and smiled blearily at him. “Thank you.” 

Aziraphale politely looked away while Crowley blew his nose. When he turned back, there was an unbearably kind look in his eyes. It was a sort of tenderness that Crowley hadn’t experienced in quite some time, and it was rather absurd to realize that it was coming from a man he’d met on the Tube, someone whose name he hadn’t even known until the night before. But there you are. Crowley stared for too long, he knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from those gray-green eyes. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Aziraphale asked, and he actually reached out to touch Crowley’s arm. 

It was all too much, and Crowley was certain now that he had a fever. Because just one response was circling the drain of his mind, making its way steadily to his mouth. It was stupid, it was _so_ stupid, but he was powerless to stop it from happening. He was on auto-pilot now, and he blamed those kind eyes.

“Actually, er, would you like to have dinner with me?” he said. And then, as though that weren’t bad enough, he kept talking. “Not tonight, obviously, because I do probably need to go home and lie in bed. But some other time. Maybe next week? Anywhere you like, I’m not picky. And I know we just met, but I can guarantee I won’t stand you up like that other bloke. Certainly not on your birthday.” 

An interesting range of emotions flashed across Aziraphale’s face as Crowley spoke, and Crowley might have picked up on them if his head hadn’t been full of cotton wool. As it was, he missed the way Aziraphale’s gaze softened even further at the initial question, and the fondness that played around his mouth as Crowley rambled. All he saw was the sadness that settled in the crease between his eyebrows when Crowley finally stopped talking. 

“That’s a very tempting invitation, I assure you,” said Aziraphale. “But I’m afraid I have to decline.” 

The words sledgehammered their way through Crowley’s heavy head, and he was struck dumb. Yes, the word _tempting_ was in there, but it was drowned out by the word _decline._

“Oh,” he said, the only word he could find. 

“I would like...that is, let’s just say that it’s most definitely not you, it’s me,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley had no idea what that meant, but perhaps Anathema could help it parse it out later. He suddenly felt very tired and aware of the fact that he was just barely remaining upright. 

“Take care of yourself, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, and he had the audacity to pat his arm again. “I’m sure we’ll see each other on the train again.” 

“Yes, probably,” said Crowley. All his words had suddenly disappeared, so he couldn’t even leave Aziraphale with a witty remark. The word _decline_ kept flashing in front of his eyes, like a neon sign bent on mocking him. 

Aziraphale smiled sadly at him and got off at the next stop. Crowley sat down heavily in the nearest seat and replayed it all in his head, in glorious technicolor. He realized he was holding his umbrella, dutifully returned, no doubt to ensure they would not cross paths again. He felt a sudden and irrational urge to give it to someone else on the train. He couldn’t imagine keeping it by the door of his flat, a constant reminder of Aziraphale and his own foolish fantasy. 

At the next stop, Crowley got off the train, crossed the platform, and got on a train going in the opposite direction. Once he was aboveground, walking back to his flat, he emailed his boss to say he was sick and wouldn’t be in. Then he let one long, expansive nap swallow the rest of his day.

* * * * * *

Three days had passed since Crowley had asked him to dinner. In those three days, Aziraphale had thought of little else than how that dinner date might have gone. On the train home that evening, he wondered whether Crowley enjoyed sushi (Gabriel didn’t). On the sofa after dinner, Aziraphale read the same paragraph of his book over and over as he wondered about Crowley’s job. The next day at work, Aziraphale wasted a great deal of time rehearsing conversations with Crowley that would likely never occur.

It was a problem. 

Aziraphale supposed that, given the right amount of will power, he would have been able to stop these distracting daydreams. But will power was not his strong suit, and he didn’t really _want_ to stop the daydreams. He knew it was unhealthy to dwell on something you could not have, but it was also tantalizing and rather fun. 

On Friday, while Aziraphale was shaving, Gabriel poked his head into the bathroom, a mischievous grin on his face. Aziraphale grinned back, surprised to see him like this. 

“Something you’d like to share?” he said. 

Gabriel stepped into the bathroom and held out a large, rectangular box. “It’s your birthday gift! Sorry it’s late, but it’s custom, so it took a little longer than expected.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, trying not to let his disappointment show on his face. If he was not mistaken, the box held clothing of some sort, and this morning was about to end with an argument. He and Gabriel always argued when it came to his clothing choices, and those arguments usually began with Gabriel trying to give Aziraphale something that didn’t match his style at all. “What ever could it be?” 

“Here, open it,” said Gabriel, holding out the box to Aziraphale. His grin was now comically large; was this all a ploy to start an argument? Did Gabriel want to fight with him?

Gingerly, Aziraphale lifted the lid of the box to reveal a smart tan trenchcoat. “It’s very nice, my dear. But I really don’t need a trenchcoat.” 

“Gifts don’t have to be something you _need_ ,” said Gabriel. “They should be extravagant, and this was very expensive. Like I said, it’s custom. It’ll fit you like a glove.” 

Even without trying the trenchcoat on, Aziraphale doubted Gabriel’s claim of a perfect fit. Over the years, he’d given Aziraphale several pairs of tailored trousers that were one or two sizes too small. When Aziraphale brought this to his attention, Gabriel smiled and said they would serve as great motivation to lose a bit of weight. 

“Well, thank you.” 

Gabriel’s face fell. “You don’t like it.” 

“It’s not that, really,” said Aziraphale. He turned back to the mirror to finish shaving. “I appreciate the gesture, and it is a very nice coat. But I have a coat that I like very much, and you know that.” 

“This coat is more on trend,” said Gabriel. “It’ll help you fit in at work, in the city.” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath, concentrating on the tricky spot under his chin. “I assure you, I don’t feel any pressure to fit in at work.” 

Gabriel hesitated and then sighed heavily. “Fine. Fine, I guess I got it wrong again. I just wanted to get you something nice. You could be really handsome, Az, if you tried.” 

At those words, Aziraphale pulled the razor just a bit too hard and nicked the side of his neck. Gabriel ducked out of the bathroom as Aziraphale cursed under his breath, plucking a bit of tissue to press against the tiny wound. It was all so familiar; Aziraphale could have written the interaction like a script, with each of them playing their usual parts. He could also write a script for later that evening, when they both got home from work and Gabriel acted like a child all through dinner. There was a way to avoid that, he knew, but he didn’t particularly like it.

When he’d finished shaving and brushing his teeth, Aziraphale got dressed and went out into the kitchen. Gabriel was standing at the island, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the _Times._ Aziraphale steeled himself and then stepped up next to him. 

“I’m sorry if I was a bit tetchy about the coat,” he said. “I’m just particular about my wardrobe, you know that.”

Gabriel set down his coffee cup and turned to him. “I know. I’m just saying it wouldn’t kill you to, you know, update a few items.”

“Certainly,” said Aziraphale, with a big, fake smile on his face. “I look forward to trying out the new coat, I really do. But it’s getting colder, and my old coat is better suited for it.” 

Gabriel studied his face, staring for an uncomfortably long time, until eventually he smiled back and nodded. “Of course. In the spring, though, it’ll be perfect.”

“Yes, I look forward to it,” said Aziraphale.

On the train, with one arm stretched up to hold the overhead bar, Aziraphale seethed. Why had he apologized to Gabriel? What did he have to apologize for? He felt gratified to have left the flat wearing his preferred coat, but why did that have to be a battle? 

Aziraphale was still stewing when he saw Crowley get on the train. Crowley noticed him, nodded briskly, and walked in the other direction. Aziraphale closed his eyes and silently wished to melt into a puddle on the floor of the train. Not only had he gotten the man sick by taking his umbrella, he’d also hurt his feelings by turning down his dinner invitation. Worst of all, he didn’t _want_ to have turned down the invitation. 

Everything converged on Aziraphale at once -- his endless daydreams, the argument with Gabriel, his annoyance with himself -- and he began working his way through the crowd to where Crowley had sat down. 

“Hello,” he said, but Crowley didn’t look up right away. “It’s me, Aziraphale.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Crowley. When he did look up, there was an amused little smile creating dimples in his cheeks. “Listen, don’t feel like you need to talk to me, okay? I know I moved way too fast the other day. I shouldn’t have asked you out, it was really stupid.” 

“How are you feeling?” said Aziraphale, interjecting so that Crowley didn’t ramble himself into oblivion. 

“Oh,” said Crowley, clearly surprised. “Erm, I’m...I’m feeling better, actually.” 

“I’m so glad to hear it,” said Aziraphale. “You seemed rather worse for wear.”

“Yeah, it was a mess,” said Crowley, chuckling at himself. “But, hey, nothing that can’t be cured with a lie-in and some takeaway.”

“I would have felt awful if you’d caught something worse,” said Aziraphale. He paused, unsure of how to proceed, and then settled for the truth. Or, at least, a thinly-veiled version of the truth. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about dinner.”

“Oh. No. No, really, you don’t have to,” said Crowley.

“But I want to,” said Aziraphale. “Honestly. As...you know, as thanks for the umbrella.” 

Crowley visibly swallowed, throat bobbing against the press of his necktie. “There’s no need to thank me.”

“Oh, but I’d like to,” Aziraphale insisted. “Do you like sushi?” 

“Er, I’m more of a curry man,” said Crowley, a bit embarrassed. “But I can do sushi. Let’s do sushi.”

“No, it should be something you’ll enjoy. I’m meant to be thanking you, after all,” said Aziraphale. “Besides, I love a curry just as much. I’m rather fond of most foods, as I’m sure you can tell.” 

Crowley didn’t so much as glance at Aziraphale’s middle. Instead he scoffed and waved his hand. “Who doesn’t love food? Curry it is. Do you know Mango? It’s near Borough Market.” 

“I can find my way there,” said Aziraphale. “Shall we say seven?” 

“We shall,” said Crowley, grinning at him. “It’s a...plan.”

Aziraphale didn’t miss the way Crowley faltered, the way he stopped himself just short of saying the word _date._ He wished Crowley had said it, then they could laugh about it. As it was, Aziraphale would spend all day redirecting his mind, telling himself that it really was just a thank you for the man’s kind deed. He might as well have been getting dinner after work with Tracy. He reasoned that this was quite similar, and so it wasn’t really a lie when he texted Gabriel: _Getting dinner with a friend from work. See you later! x_

On the way to the restaurant, Aziraphale was struck by a number of troubling doubts. After all, he barely knew this man. Yes, he knew his name now, and he knew that he was a fan of curry. But that really wasn’t much to go on; should he have jumped into this so quickly? What was he thinking? 

But as he made his way up the block, he caught sight of Crowley standing outside the restaurant. He had an odd sort of slouch, his hips pushed to one side, and his brown leather messenger bag slung across his chest. He was peering at his phone, just as Aziraphale had seen him do many mornings on the train. And when Crowley noticed that Aziraphale was heading toward him, a huge grin lit up his face. 

“Hiya,” he said, stowing his phone in his pocket. “Any trouble finding the place?” 

“None at all,” said Aziraphale. “Thanks to the miracle of modern technology. You know, I’m not the biggest fan of the mobile phone, but it has helped me navigate the city on more than one occasion.” 

“I’m a bit of a phone addict, but I promise I won’t have it out tonight,” said Crowley, reaching for the door. “After you.” 

Mango was a tiny little place, with small tables that made it nearly impossible not to knock knees with one’s dining companion. Again, Aziraphale reminded himself that this was categorically not a date, even as Crowley’s long legs bumped into his own, and the man blushed as he apologized for the intrusion. 

“What looks nice?” said Aziraphale, studying the wine menu. “Er, sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. Do you drink?” 

Crowley smirked at him. “I think you’ll find I’m one of wine’s biggest fans. The Château Teyssier looks good.” 

“Mind reader,” said Aziraphale. “That’s precisely what I was about to say.”

_Not a date, not a date,_ said the voice in the back of Aziraphale’s mind, even as Crowley set down his wine menu and gave him a _look._ He tried not to think about Gabriel’s affinity for California wines or, even worse, American beer. For a man who claimed to be an Anglophile, who had moved across the Atlantic as soon as he was able, he held many unfathomable loyalties to his home country. 

They each ordered a glass of the Château Teyssier and made appreciative noises over their first sips. Then Aziraphale turned his attention to the dining menu. “Well, this was your suggestion, so I must ask -- what do you recommend?” 

Crowley glanced down at the menu and smiled. “I wouldn’t want to sway your decision, of course. But the duck biryani is just sinful. Highly recommend.”

“Sounds scrumptious,” said Aziraphale. “That’s my mind made up, then.”

“I think I’ll copy you, if you don’t mind,” said Crowley. “It’s one of my favorites, and I’ll probably just spend the night feeling jealous of yours if I don’t get the same.” 

After they’d ordered, Aziraphale fiddled with his place setting, wondering where to begin. “What, erm, what do you do when you’re not giving away your umbrella to strangers?” 

“Digital marketing,” said Crowley. “We basically help companies get noticed online.”

“Ah, interesting,” said Aziraphale. “Is it what you always wanted to do?” 

“Nah, not really,” said Crowley. “But I had an opportunity to break into the industry when the internet was first getting big, so I figured why not?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “What did you want to do, then?”

“Don’t laugh,” said Crowley, twisting his wine glass this way and that on the table. “I’ve always wanted to do something with plants.” 

“How lovely,” said Aziraphale. “Do you grow anything at home?”

“My flat doesn’t get great light,” said Crowley. “But I do what I can. What about you? Did you always want to be in publishing?” 

Aziraphale smiled and launched into what he knew was a very stereotypical story -- studied English at uni, avid reader from childhood, just wanted to be around more books. Crowley hung on his every word, smiling and reacting in all the right places. Aziraphale had forgotten what it was like to meet someone new, to introduce oneself and learn about them in return. Whenever he went out, it was with Gabriel. They didn’t have many friends as a couple, and Aziraphale’s friendships mainly revolved around work. It was nice to make a new friend, and that was the only reason behind how fast his heart beat when Crowley smiled at him. 

Eventually, their food arrived and Aziraphale salivated at the mere smell of it. When he took his first bite, it was so astonishingly delicious that he forgot to hold back a moan of satisfaction. He’d always taken great pleasure in food, and he was often told off for making somewhat unseemly noises while he ate. Gabriel was usually the one telling him off, and he’d trained himself to keep quiet at mealtime, at least when Gabriel was present. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, holding his hand in front of his mouth. “I...I sometimes get a bit swept away by delicious food. Do forgive me.” 

Crowley was staring at him, mouth hanging open just a bit, and for a moment Aziraphale worried that he’d offended him beyond repair. Then he blinked and shook his head. “No! No, er, nothing to apologize for at all. It’s...I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” 

Another point went to Crowley in the mental tally that Aziraphale was definitely not keeping. So far the man was a fan of Georgette Heyer, liked the way he dressed, and had lent him his umbrella. The list was growing, and Aziraphale knew he could only ignore it for so long.

“So, you, er, you go by Crowley?” he asked. 

“Yeah. Anthony was my dad’s name, so...not a great association, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh, dear. I’m sorry to hear that,” said Aziraphale. “I can sympathize, to a certain degree. My family were all religious zealots, hence my truly bizarre name. I don’t fancy being called ‘Fell,’ though, and I’ve never thought up anything better, so there you are.” 

“Never had any nicknames at school?” 

Aziraphale gave him a grim smile. “None I’d care to hold onto, I’m afraid.” 

“Ah,” said Crowley. “Yeah, I had a few of those, too.” 

Aziraphale ate every last morsel of his biryani, and Crowley didn’t make one single comment about the way he gathered up the extra sauce with his naan bread. In fact, as he finished his own food, Crowley actually dragged his finger through the sauce and licked it away. The duck had been spicy, but Aziraphale suspected that was not the cause of the sudden blush he felt on his cheeks. 

When the check came, Aziraphale snatched it up and tucked his credit card inside the little leatherette folder. “There you are. Now, do you think this served as sufficient thanks for the use of your umbrella, plus an apology for essentially getting you sick?”

Crowley considered this for a moment and stroked his chin. Then he said, “This was lovely, make no mistake. But for a real thank you, for it to really count, don’t you think some sushi might be appropriate?”

Aziraphale smirked at him -- more points for cheekiness. “Perhaps.” 

“I can sweeten the deal,” said Crowley. “I’ll pick up the check for the sushi.” 

Aziraphale wanted to simply say yes. He wanted it so much that the words nearly leapt from his lips before he could reconsider them. But he held back, just barely, because another lovely evening like this would set him on the path toward something. If, God forbid, that led him to a third lovely evening, then certain uncomfortable truths would become rather apparent. And though he wanted to say yes, though he wanted to spend more time with Crowley, he was also afraid of where it all might lead him. 

So he settled for a noncommittal response. “I would love to, but I’m not sure what my schedule is like at the moment.”

“You were free tonight. At the drop of a hat,” said Crowley. 

“Yes, well, you caught me on a very lucky evening,” said Aziraphale. He smiled at the waiter when he brought back the receipt for him to sign. “Shall we just play it by ear?” 

Crowley hesitated. “If that’s what you want, sure.” 

Aziraphale hated the way Crowley was looking at him -- warily, as though he was trying to figure out what Aziraphale was hiding. So he made a rash decision. “Tell you what, why don’t I give you my mobile number? I mean, I”m sure we’ll see each other on the train again, but, you know, just in case we don’t.” 

“Yeah, all right,” said Crowley, smiling again. He slid his phone out of his pocket, opened a new contact page, and passed it to Aziraphale so he could type in his number. 

“I like the flowers in your background picture,” said Aziraphale, as he passed the phone back. “Are those some of yours?” 

“They are,” said Crowley, a bit bashful. “I think I’ve got some more on here. Want to see?” 

Though their food was finished and their bill was paid, Aziraphale and Crowley sat at the table for another thirty minutes chatting. Crowley showed off photos of his home garden as though he were a proud parent, and Aziraphale couldn’t resist voicing the desire to see them in person some day. It would never happen, it _could_ never happen, but he did want to see them. 

Eventually, they had to leave, though they were both very reluctant to do so. Crowley held the door for him again, and Aziraphale felt a nervous flutter in his chest as they walked to the station. The evening was coming to an end, and Aziraphale realized with a jolt that he would happily keep things going, if the circumstances were different. If he were unattached and Crowley had asked him to dinner, he wouldn’t have been so restrained. Frankly, he would be about to kiss him on the train. 

But those were not the circumstances, and Aziraphale was reminded of this when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was likely a text from Gabriel, a response to the message he’d sent nearly two hours earlier. He was confident that Gabriel wasn’t concerned about his whereabouts; after all, he was probably just leaving the office after another exceedingly long day. 

“So, you live in Soho?” said Crowley, as they sat side by side on the train. “I’m not a creep, I swear. I just saw where you got off one day.” 

“I assure you, you don’t seem like a creep to me,” said Aziraphale. “And yes, I live in Soho. You’ve always been on the train when I get on, so you live...further out?” 

“Just a bit. In Mayfair,” said Crowley. “And that’s not because I’m some rich wanker, just so you know. My uncle left me some money and I bought a place ages ago.” 

“Lucky you,” said Aziraphale. “My grandfather actually left me a bookshop.” 

Crowley grinned. “A _bookshop?_ Do you actually run it and stuff?” 

“I’m afraid not. For now, it’s just collecting dust, but I’d love to open it up one day,” said Aziraphale. “Perhaps it’ll be a retirement adventure.” 

Crowley smiled at him and fidgeted a bit in his seat. Aziraphale could tell that Crowley wanted to kiss him. It was nice to know the feeling was mutual, but he hoped that Crowley didn’t make any moves. He didn’t want to have to push him away, to tell him why they couldn’t do this. How long could they stay in this place, having pleasantly platonic dinner dates, before something more threatened to happen? 

_The next stop is Tottenham Court Road._

“This is me,” said Aziraphale, gesturing toward the train doors. “I had a lovely time, really.”

“So did I,” said Crowley. “I’ll, er, text you about sushi?”

“Please do.” Aziraphale stood up as the train pulled into the station. 

Crowley nodded to him. He was on the edge of his seat, actually sitting on the edge of his seat, as though he wanted to spring up and follow Aziraphale off the train. And Aziraphale was greedy, damn it. He always wanted one more biscuit, one more chocolate truffle. So before the door opened, he turned back to Crowley and held out his hand. 

“I look forward to next time,” he said. 

Crowley took his hand, clearly surprised by the gesture, and held it firmly but gently. Though it was surely a psychosomatic response, Aziraphale would have sworn that his skin tingled at Crowley’s touch. Soon enough, the doors opened and he had to let go. Crowley waved to him through the train window, looking a bit dumbstruck. Perhaps he’d felt a tingle of something as well. 

At home, Aziraphale found Gabriel eating a late dinner -- a leftover takeaway they’d had earlier in the week. Aziraphale kissed the top of his head and apologized for not responding to his text. Gabriel waved him off and said he hoped he had a nice time. 

As Aziraphale removed his waistcoat in favor of a cardigan, he saw his phone light up. 

_I’m looking forward to next time, too. No pressure, whenever you’re ready._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm @truncated-symphony on tumblr, and basically all I do there is reblog Good Omens content.
> 
> New chapters are posted here every Friday! Comments are appreciated, thank you ever so much for reading. <33


	3. so used to the lie, so down to deny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” said Crowley, with a devastating grin. “Good weekend?” 
> 
> “Not bad,” said Aziraphale. “Sorry I didn’t respond to your text. I just got a bit...busy.” 
> 
> “Totally fine,” said Crowley. “I’d rather talk to you in person anyway.”
> 
> Aziraphale grabbed the pole next to Crowley’s seat, but it wasn’t because of the lurching train.

Aziraphale’s hand had been very soft. It was all Crowley could think about as he walked home, flexing his own hand like bloody Mr. Darcy. In his flat, as he changed into sweats, he thought about how Aziraphale had ooh-ed and ahh-ed over his plant photos and seemed to be genuinely interested. He thought about Aziraphale’s taste in wine, his dusty old bookshop, and the way he’d _moaned_ when he’d tried the biryani. It was all too much, and he needed to tell someone, so he flopped down on his bed like a teenage girl and rang Anathema.

“I love how you just assume I’m at home, with no plans of my own,” she said, in place of a simple ‘hello.’

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Are you at home?”

A beat of silence, and then, “Yes. But I could have gone out if I wanted to.” 

“Sure, sure, your reputation is safe with me,” Crowley assured her. “Do you want the gossip or not?” 

As soon as he’d arrived at the office that morning, Crowley had told Anathema about his very exciting dinner plans. She, of course, had been thrilled for him and demanded a report at his earliest convenience. 

“He let me show him pictures of my plants,” said Crowley. “And he moaned like a trollop over the duck biryani. That’s not a dig, mind you.”

“Didn’t sound like one. So, he wears waistcoats, but he’s not stuffy?”

“Just a little formal, especially in how he talks,” said Crowley. “But again, not a dig. I love the way he talks, it’s charming. And you know I love his outfits.” 

“And that name...any info on the name?” 

“Just that his family were religious,” said Crowley. “His grandfather left him a bookshop. A _bookshop._ Can you even?” 

Anathema laughed. “Well, now I’m sort of just picturing the bloke from that movie. “Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium,” is that what I’m thinking of?”

“God, I hope not,” said Crowley. “Dustin Hoffman? You think Dustin Hoffman is on par with this man? Wait ‘till you meet him, you’ll see that he’s miles beyond _Dustin fucking Hoffman._ ”

“Right, well, cart before the horse,” said Anathema. “I mean, did you get his number? Is there going to be a second date?” 

“Yes, and maybe,” said Crowley. “I suggested sushi.” 

“Did he say anything about the guy who stood him up? Did you ask him what’s up with that?”

“He’s got very soft hands.” 

“ _Crowley_...”

“No. All right? No, I didn’t ask. It was a first date, there’ll be time to sort all that out. Besides, it’s, you know, I’m sure he’s dating. On the market. We’re all dating.” 

“Why is the second date only a maybe?” 

“He said he had to check his schedule.” 

“Dude. Is he married?” 

Crowley spluttered. “What, now, why would you just jump straight to that? Of course he’s not fucking married. He hasn’t got a ring on.”

“Rings can be removed, my man.” 

“Oh, come on,” said Crowley, though he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He’d already thought of this, on his train ride home. “Don’t rain on my parade.” 

“Hey, I’m not, I don’t want to crush your dreams. Think of it as me offering you a preemptive umbrella.” 

Crowley sighed. “He’s lovely. He’s so...soft.” 

Anathema snorted. “Soft?”

“Yeah, you know. Like, you just want to hug him. I dunno.”

“How have you got it this bad already? You’ve been out with him once! And it was a thank-you dinner. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Oh, that was just an excuse,” Crowley insisted. “Nah, if you’d seen him, you would know. You don’t moan over duck biryani like that when it’s just a thank-you dinner.” 

“Just be careful, okay? I know you, you like to jump into the deep end right away.” 

“Don’t worry about me! I’ll wade in gradually, I promise.” 

This was, of course, a lie. As soon as he was off the phone, Crowley spent twenty minutes deciding on the best thing to text Aziraphale. When he finally found the words and sent them off into the ether, he buried his phone under one of his pillows and poured himself a glass of wine. Then it was a flurry of home renovation shows until he fell asleep on the couch.

* * * * * *

Aziraphale never responded to Crowley’s text. At first he couldn’t find the right words. Then Gabriel came into the bedroom, and he’d had to hide his phone. Then he’d spent all weekend feeling guilty about even having dinner with Crowley. Gabriel pressed a mug of tea into his hands and a kiss to his cheek on Saturday afternoon, and Aziraphale felt content. They made breakfast together on Sunday morning, and Gabriel even helped him with the crossword. Things were all right, really, and he shouldn’t have been so impulsive.

And of course, dinner with Crowley had not been a date. He’d made it quite clear that he was only thanking him, that it was casual. There was no reason why he couldn’t get dinner with a new friend. He’d had dinner with Tracy before, and he’d even had lunch with Newton a few times. And yes, they were work friends, but Crowley was a friend he’d made on the way to work. It was all fine, all above board. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to respond to that text.

Monday morning, Crowley was on the train, and he was wearing a dark green tie that went very well with his hair. He had his sunglasses on again, and they were slipping down his nose as he read something on his phone. As soon as Aziraphale saw him, he felt his heartbeat quicken, and he knew the real reason why he hadn’t responded to the text. If he responded, it would be the start of something. He would have no excuse to refuse the invitation for sushi.

Crowley waved to him before he could slink away to the opposite end of the train car, so he walked toward him with a smile. “Good morning!” 

“Hey,” said Crowley, with a devastating grin. “Good weekend?” 

“Not bad,” said Aziraphale. “Sorry I didn’t respond to your text. I just got a bit...busy.” 

“Totally fine,” said Crowley. “I’d rather talk to you in person anyway.”

Aziraphale grabbed the pole next to Crowley’s seat, but it wasn’t because of the lurching train. He’d been riding the Tube long enough to have developed a sense of internal equilibrium, to move with the train and keep his balance. No, the fluttering in his stomach was entirely due to Crowley’s smile, and the way he peered at him over those sunglasses. 

“I’m glad we ran into each other,” said Crowley. “You realize I have to ask, right? Are you free this week? Any night is fine for me. S’been a while since I’ve had sushi.”

Aziraphale smiled tightly at him, trying to maintain his resolve. This was so much harder than if Crowley had simply texted him again. He could have ignored the message, he could have put it out of his mind. But with Crowley right in front of him, smiling like that, he struggled to remind himself of the boundaries in his life. 

“I’m not sure,” he said, glancing down at his shoes. “Er, I might be quite busy at work.”

“But afterwards?” 

What could he say? Well, the answer was quite simple -- _my boyfriend might be waiting for me, at least some nights, when he can be bothered to head home before ten, and then we might have dinner together, but we certainly won’t make love because those days are apparently over._

“Wednesday,” he said, blurting out the word to stop his thoughts. “I know just the place -- Miyama, near St. Paul’s. It’s quiet and unassuming. Not that I didn’t enjoy the curry restaurant, mind. I loved it, in fact. But I find that sushi is enjoyed most satisfactorily in quietude.” 

“From what I saw, you don’t enjoy food very quietly.” 

Aziraphale gulped, the rest of his rambling swallowed up by more butterflies in his stomach. “Yes. Er, no, not always. Sh-shall we meet there, or…?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you there,” said Crowley. “Is seven good?” 

“Perfect,” said Aziraphale.

For three days, Aziraphale thought about Crowley and sushi and the moment when the two would converge. He dangled it like a carrot for himself to get through boring meetings at work and his commute home when he didn’t see Crowley on the train. The impending dinner rendezvous (undeniably not just a thank-you, but not ready to be called a date just yet) consumed him until Wednesday evening. He arrived first this time and waved to Crowley as he saw him coming down the street.

“Here we are,” he said, gesturing to the storefront. “This is my Mango, if you will. You are entering hallowed ground, where some of the city’s finest sushi chefs practice their craft. Are you ready?” 

Crowley grinned. “I’ve been waiting all week. You’re gonna have to guide me through this menu, just so you know.” 

“Rest assured, you are in good hands,” said Aziraphale. “I’ve eaten more sushi dinners here than I would care to count.” 

Aziraphale led them inside to the sushi bar, where he greeted the chef by name. He didn’t miss the impressed look that crossed Crowley’s face as he took the seat next to him. Aziraphale did not require a menu -- after checking with Crowley that it was okay to take the lead, he ordered a selection of sashimi, nigiri, and maki rolls. He chose a bottle of plum wine for them to share and felt quite pleased when he saw Crowley beside him, one arm on the counter, leaning against his own hand and gazing at him. 

“You weren’t kidding, eh?” he said. “You really know your way around this place.” 

“My dear, I never kid when sushi is involved,” said Aziraphale, taking a prim sip of his wine.

Though Crowley showed some trepidation when presented with sashimi, he bravely sampled each type of sushi laid before him. Aziraphale watched his reactions, noting the varieties that he genuinely seemed to enjoy, as though they might do this again and he would know what to order. 

“I won’t lie to you,” said Crowley, dabbing his napkin at his mouth. “Raw fish is not my favorite food. But some of those maki rolls were absolutely delicious. And don’t get me started on this plum wine. This stuff is incredible.” 

Aziraphale smiled smugly. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. They serve dessert downstairs, if you’d like. Should we? I’m always in favor, but I know sometimes I should restrain myself.” 

“Bollocks to that,” said Crowley. “What’s a meal without dessert?”

Though he tried to pretend it hadn’t, Aziraphale felt his heart expand in his chest. Gabriel always insisted they have an espresso after their meal, as though that were some sort of replacement for a perfectly fruity sorbet or scrumptious chocolate cake. But here was Crowley, jumping at the chance to have dessert with him. Aziraphale thanked the chef, and he and Crowley made their way downstairs, to the small and dimly (some might say romantically) lit room where the restaurant served sake and dessert. 

Aziraphale ordered a sampler of three Japanese ice creams, and Crowley ordered an espresso that came paired with chocolate truffles. As they waited, Crowley leaned his elbows on the table, suddenly making very intense eye contact with Aziraphale. They’d sat side by side at the sushi bar, but now they were face to face, and Aziraphale found himself disarmed by the look in Crowley’s golden-brown eyes. 

“Dessert’s a good time to ask questions,” he said, apropos of nothing. 

“Oh?” said Aziraphale, doing his best not to look away. 

“Yeah,” said Crowley. “During the meal, you know, you’re preoccupied with trying everything. Dessert is when you get to decompress with something sweet, round out the evening. It’s the perfect time to get to know each other.” 

“Right,” said Aziraphale, willingly entering what he knew was a veritable lion’s den. “Go on, then.” 

Crowley leaned back in his chair, sprawling all over it, but he didn’t break eye contact. “Why do you dress the way you do?”

Aziraphale considered the surface-level answer, that he simply enjoyed looking smart. But if Crowley was making eye contact this seriously, he probably wanted an answer with more meat on its bones. And if Aziraphale wanted a strong answer from Crowley, he should probably start them off that way. 

“I used to be uncomfortable in my body,” he said. “When I was younger, I tried to dress in the fashions of the day, but I always ended up feeling foolish in one way or another. I met someone at uni, at Oxford, who always made the extra effort with his clothes, and he never failed to look good. I suppose I sort of adopted his style, but I’d like to think I’ve made it my own along the way. And I feel good in these clothes, I feel like myself.” 

“Who was he? The bloke at Oxford?” 

Aziraphale blushed in spite of himself. “Just a friend, truly. But I did have something of a crush on him at the time. He was a poet, God help me.”

Crowley smirked at him. “Well, I didn’t know him, but I’m sure you’ve improved upon his example. You always look incredible.” 

Aziraphale blushed even harder and wished his complexion weren’t so pale. “Thank you. Is it my turn?” 

“Fire away.”

“Why do you wear those sunglasses?” 

“At first it was just to look cool,” Crowley admitted, with a shrug. “When I was younger, at least. Now my eyes are old and tired, so they help me on sunnier days. You know, on the rare occasion we get a sunny day. Also they’re prescription.” 

Aziraphale had to chuckle at this. “Don’t feel too badly, my dear. My eyes are old and tired as well. I’ve just gone for the decidedly less cool eyewear.” 

They went on like this even after their desserts arrived. Aziraphale learned that Crowley had been kicked out of his house at eighteen, when he’d come out to his parents. He'd subsequently spent some time with a bad crowd before getting his act together and going to uni. In turn, Aziraphale told him about his religious upbringing, how he’d stayed in the church too long, long after they’d made him feel like shit for being gay. He told him that his parents had made peace with his sexuality before they’d passed on, but that it had been a hard fought battle. As Aziraphale sampled the truffles that accompanied Crowley’s espresso, he learned that Crowley dyed his hair, that he had chronic pain in his hips, that he liked to watch “The Golden Girls.”

Aziraphale was having a lovely time, though he recognized they were now most definitely on a date. He tried not to think about the fact that this was wrong, that he’d have to lie to Gabriel again if he asked where he’d been. He’d just managed to push that all to the back of his mind and enjoy himself when Crowley’s next question smacked him in the face. 

“Who stood you up on your birthday?”

Aziraphale froze, spoonful of ice cream halfway to his mouth. “Why do you want to know?” 

“So I can beat them up, obviously,” said Crowley, with a roguish grin. “And I just can’t work out who would be stupid enough to leave you waiting somewhere.” 

“Hmm, yes.” 

“Was it just...some guy? I mean, pretty high stakes to have a casual date on your birthday.” 

Aziraphale ate the spoonful of ice cream to give himself time to think. If he could lie to Gabriel, he could certainly lie his way out of this one. The trouble was, he didn’t want to lie to Crowley. So far he’d simply been _omitting certain truths_ , but here he might have to out and out lie. Plus, if he took too much time in responding, that was bound to look fishy. He took a deep breath and wiped his mouth with his napkin. 

“It certainly was high stakes, that night meant a lot to me,” he said. “And I made the mistake of trusting someone that I shouldn’t have. I’m a bit embarrassed about it, if I’m honest.”

“Enh, no reason to be embarrassed,” said Crowley. “We’ve all had shit dates. I’m just sorry you had to go through that on your birthday.” 

Aziraphale shrugged. “Like you said, it’s just one day out of the year, and there are three hundred and sixty-four more to do with as you please. I’m...I’m glad that I’ve chosen to be here, with you, on this particular evening.” 

Crowley smiled at him, and Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. There, not really a lie. The night _had_ meant a lot to him, and he really shouldn't have trusted Gabriel to follow through on his extravagant plans. No harm done, and now they could move on.

Later, on the train, Aziraphale had the sudden impulse to come clean, to tell Crowley the truth and see if he was still interested. But he held back, electing instead to listen to Crowley talk about stars.

"I was out in the country once," he said. "In one of those areas specifically advertised as clear sky spots, you know, to see the stars away from all the light pollution. I've never seen the sky like that before, it was beautiful. It was like a painting, with the deepest blues and blacks you'll ever see, pinpointed with little specks of light that could be whole galaxies. I loved it. You should see it sometime."

"I'd like that," said Aziraphale, who was certain that Crowley could see the stars in his own eyes just then. 

Crowley stared at him for a moment, a question lingering around the smirk on his face. Then he shook his head and chuckled. "Blimey. What the hell was in that plum wine, eh?"

"Indeed," said Aziraphale. "I'm feeling a bit lightheaded myself."

"Might not be the wine, if I'm honest," said Crowley. 

Their timing was bad. At that very moment, the train pulled into Tottenham, and Aziraphale turned to leave. To his surprise, he felt Crowley grab his arm and pull him back. Before either of them could change their minds, they met in the middle, lips crushed together. The kiss lasted seconds, until the very last moment that Aziraphale had to dart from the train. As he stood on the platform, breathless, he watched Crowley disappear and wished he hadn't had to get off the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and thank you for the amazing response to this story! You've all been completely lovely, and I'm enjoying chatting with you in the comments. I'll see you back here next Friday with another chapter! 
> 
> If you'd like to find me elsewhere, I'm @truncated-symphony on tumblr.


	4. to feel the need of your touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale stared at him, bereft. Crowley was so kind to him, so kind and flattering in such an easy way. Or perhaps his bar was very low at this point, and Crowley was just a common, everyday variety of considerate. In any case, the way Crowley looked at him just then pushed him to make several decisions very quickly.

Aziraphale woke the next morning with his mind full of Crowley. He’d replayed those precious few seconds when their lips had touched far too many times to count. Gabriel hadn’t been home yet when he’d arrived at the flat, so he’d taken a shower and got himself off to the thought of Crowley’s deep red hair and soft, thin lips. There was no denying what this was now, and he knew he was at a crossroads. It was time to come clean to either Crowley or Gabriel. If he told Crowley that he had a boyfriend, Crowley might not want to have anything to do with him anymore. If he told Gabriel that he wanted to end things, Gabriel might not be willing to hear him. 

Consumed by the question of what to do next, Aziraphale did what he did best -- eat his feelings. There were some frozen scones in their freezer (not ideal, but needs must), so he warmed one up for breakfast, slathering it with jam and butter. He wasn’t thinking, he just knew that a scone would make him feel better. Indeed, the warm buttery flavor mixed with the tang of his raspberry jam, and for a single moment all felt right with the world. 

“Really? For breakfast?” 

Aziraphale swallowed a bite of scone and turned to find Gabriel staring at him, one eyebrow raised. “Yes. You know I don’t indulge every morning, I just wanted a scone today.” 

Gabriel sighed and started to make his morning coffee. “It’s just not the best way to start your day.” 

Aziraphale shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He was a grown man, he could make his own decisions, and he’d decided to begin his day with a scone. He didn’t know why that necessitated such disapproval from his partner. “I’m not sure that’s for you to say.” 

“I’m not pretending to be an authority,” said Gabriel. “I’m just saying, you should try to eat healthier.”

Aziraphale took another bite of his scone in retaliation. He thought back to the night before, when Crowley had encouraged him to get dessert and let him steal one of his chocolate truffles. There had been no berating, there had been no raised eyebrows. 

“I don’t happen to think there’s anything wrong with the way I eat, my dear,” said Aziraphale.

Suddenly Gabriel’s arms wound around his waist, squeezing gently. He buried his nose in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, nuzzling there. “There’s no need to be dramatic about it. I’m only looking out for your health.” 

The mismatch of Gabriel’s scolding with the way he kissed Aziraphale’s neck and nipped at his earlobe sent Aziraphale reeling. It felt good to be kissed like this, to feel like Gabriel wanted him. But did he? Did he want the man who ate scones for breakfast, or did he only want him if he would adhere to his diet restrictions? 

Aziraphale cleared his throat and gently pushed away from Gabriel. “I should get to work.”

Again, Gabriel sighed as he let go of Aziraphale and straightened his tie. “Suit yourself. See you for dinner?” 

“If you’re home a bit earlier tonight, yes,” said Aziraphale. He pulled on his Victorian coat, grabbed his satchel, and left the flat in a huff. 

Aziraphale was still feeling muddled when he noticed Crowley on the train, and then he remembered the kiss he’d been thinking about since the previous night. Crowley was wearing a sharp black coat over his suit that morning, a bright red scarf tied fashionably at his throat. He had those sunglasses on, and he grinned devilishly when he spotted Aziraphale. 

“Morning,” he said, winding his way through the commuters, hips moving in a frankly implausible manner. “I just love that coat.”

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale. He could feel himself blushing under the one-two punch of Crowley’s smile and his compliments. He wasn’t sure how to bring up the kiss, or if Crowley would even want to discuss it. “Your scarf is magnificent.” 

Crowley ducked his head, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah, well. Just consider it a meager attempt to rise to your sartorial standards.”

Aziraphale stared at him, bereft. Crowley was so kind to him, so kind and flattering in such an easy way. Or perhaps his bar was very low at this point, and Crowley was just a common, everyday variety of considerate. In any case, the way Crowley looked at him just then pushed him to make several decisions very quickly. 

“Do you want to see my bookshop?” 

“Er,” said Crowley, glancing down at his phone. “Before work, or…?”

“We could play hooky,” said Aziraphale, feeling reckless. “If you want to, that is, if you can. I...I don’t presume to know what your office is like.”

Crowley thought for a moment, chewing at his bottom lip. “Fuck it, they can do without me. Of course I want to see your bookshop.”

“Oh. Oh, really?” said Aziraphale. “I’m so glad. Let’s get off at the next stop and head back toward Soho.”

* * * * * *

Crowley vaguely remembered promising Anathema that he wasn’t going to jump straight into the deep end with Aziraphale. Yes, he was fairly certain those words had been said, by him, very recently. And yet here he was, at the St. Paul’s tube stop, typing out an email to his boss -- something about an emergency that had come up at his flat, which made it impossible to come into work. This seemed like the deep end, but he didn’t feel like he was floundering.

“Is this insane?” said Aziraphale, struggling to type out his own excuse email beside him. “I don’t think I’ve ever taken off work for a frivolous reason.”

Crowley watched him fondly, the way his brow wrinkled as he squinted down at his phone, the way his fingers fumbled to find the right letters. He’d bet anything that Aziraphale could type a zillion words a minute on a conventional keyboard, but the touch screen was seemingly not his friend. “If you’d rather not, just tell me.” 

“No, I want to,” said Aziraphale. “I’m just thinking out loud, dear boy.” 

After Aziraphale managed to finish his email and send it, the two of them got on the next train heading toward Soho. It was just a few stops back, and Crowley kept catching Aziraphale staring at him. He wondered if he, too, was thinking about the kiss. It had been rash, Crowley knew, and now he was worried that it might have been out of line. Although, he didn’t suppose that Aziraphale would invite him to his bookshop if he was upset about it.

When they got off at Tottenham, Aziraphale led them in the direction of Greek Street, just a few blocks away from the station, and eventually to an impressive, two-story corner building. The writing on the sign above the door was faded, but Crowley could just make it out -- _A.Z. Fell and Co._

“It’s a lie, of course,” said Aziraphale, fondly. “There was never any ‘and Co.’ My grandfather did it all on his own. None of his children wanted to take on the business. He knew how much I loved books, so he left the place to me.” 

Aziraphale unlocked the front doors with a key that looked positively ancient and gestured for Crowley to go in first. His first impression was one of dust -- dust on the shelves, dust on the floor, dust dancing in the beams of sunlight that came in through the gaps around the window shades. But it was a glorious old building, and he could see how inviting it might be with a little love. Crowley was surprised to find that some of the shelves were nearly empty.

“I’ve been mining the place for my personal collection,” Aziraphale explained. “I know it’s a bit naughty of me, but granddad had some real gems in here. If I ever get the old place up and running again, I suppose I’ll have to bring them back.” 

“It’s great,” said Crowley, stepping further in and catching sight of the dome above the center of the shop. “Just needs a bit of dusting, really.” 

“Rather a lot of dusting, I should think,” said Aziraphale. He leaned against one of the pillars and watched Crowley explore. “And God knows what other renovations.”

Crowley shuffled his feet a bit, and then stopped when he realized he was kicking up clouds of dust. He turned to Aziraphale, who had his hands in his pockets and was looking rather dashing. “Did you move to Soho because the shop’s here?” 

“No, I moved to Soho because I’m an old queen,” said Aziraphale, with a chuckle. “The shop just happened to be here as well.” 

“Why did you invite me here?” 

Aziraphale smiled nervously at him. “Is this one of your dessert questions?” 

“Maybe. I think I’ve got a Curly Wurly in my bag, if that’ll help.” 

Aziraphale chuckled. “I suppose I just...wanted to spend more time with you.” 

Crowley nodded and walked to where he stood. This had to mean something, that Aziraphale had asked him here. He’d asked him to dinner first, of course, but that had been a thank-you (or so he’d said). This felt different -- skiving off work, being shown a place that meant so much to him, the way Aziraphale kept staring at him. Crowley summoned up all his courage to ask the question beating against the inside of his skull. 

“Was that kiss last night a mistake? Did I make an arse of myself?” 

Aziraphale looked down at his shoes as a flush rose up from his collar. When he looked back up at Crowley, he smiled and shook his head. “No, I don’t think it was a mistake. In fact...I’d be rather amenable to another.” 

Crowley grinned at him as he stepped closer, wanting to get closer still. They’d stood quite close on the train before, but that was simply necessity. This was a choice, this was purposeful closeness, and Crowley was suddenly struck by a burning desire to know how the fabric of Aziraphale’s waistcoat would feel against his hands. He shuffled forward, inch by inch, giving Aziraphale ample time to back away. But he stayed right there, chest heaving with nervous breaths as Crowley leaned into him. 

Kissing Aziraphale here, against a pillar in his dusty bookshop, was far superior to kissing him in the split second before he left the train. This was sublime, with time stretched out ahead of them and possibilities blooming inside Crowley’s head. Aziraphale made a needy noise at the back of his throat, and Crowley gave in to his need to touch him. The waistcoat was made of worn velveteen, comfortable and softly stretched across Aziraphale’s belly. Crowley snaked his hands all the way around Aziraphale’s middle, inside his coat, to touch the waistcoat's satin panel at his back. He breathed him in, and Aziraphale’s hands came up to rest on Crowley’s shoulders. 

“Oh, good Lord,” said Aziraphale, when they broke apart. “What are we doing? Is this all right?” 

“Yes,” said Crowley, with a soft chuckle. “Are you kidding? This is more than all right. Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” said Aziraphale, a bit shaky. “I tend to talk myself out of wild ideas, but here we are.” 

Crowley wanted to tug him closer, put his fingers in his fluffy white-blond hair. But Aziraphale kept asking whether this was a good idea, and Crowley didn’t want to push him. “Did you try to talk yourself out of having dinner with me?” 

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Something was happening, something was behind Aziraphale’s nervous hands and stuttering breath. Crowley was terrified of discovering it, but he had to if they were to move forward. For now he took a step back, got his hands out of Aziraphale’s coat. “Okay. Why?” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath and looked at him, grey-blue eyes meeting the dark lenses of his sunglasses. Crowley reached up and removed them so he could look back at Aziraphale properly. Just like that, he felt a horrible suspicion settle in the pit of his stomach. What if he was married, just as Anathema had suggested? 

“I...I have a partner,” said Aziraphale, at last. “He’s the one who stood me up on my birthday.” 

“Oh,” said Crowley. Not married, then, but still. “Oh, fuck.” 

“I _know,_ " said Aziraphale, his forehead wrinkling up adorably. “I’ve made such a mess of things. But I really, _really_ like spending time with you. And he’s rubbish, actually. He’s quite rubbish, and I’m beginning to finally understand that.”

“You think? He stood you up on your bloody birthday. Who _does_ that?” 

“Yes. Yes, I know,” said Aziraphale. “And you were so kind to me that night, on the train. It’s all happened so fast. Like I said, I tried to talk myself out of it, but you...well, you just kept being so wonderful, to be perfectly frank.” 

To Crowley’s astonishment, Aziraphale began to cry. Acting purely on instinct, Crowley put his arms around him and pulled him close again. Aziraphale leaned his head against Crowley’s shoulder and cried softly, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly. Yup, Crowley thought, this was the deep end. But his heart broke each time Aziraphale’s breath caught in his chest, and he couldn’t stand the thought that someone had left this man waiting on his birthday. Besides, if he was being honest, he’d been in the deep end since he’d first seen Aziraphale on the train. 

“Hey,” he said, rubbing Aziraphale’s back. “It’s all right. Listen. Just how bad is this boyfriend?”

Aziraphale sniffled and raised his head. “He doesn’t hit me.”

“Okay,” said Crowley. “But you seem really upset. Are you safe?” 

Aziraphale nodded, calming down now. “Yes. I’m fine, I promise. It all caught up with me just now, goodness. I’m terribly sorry.” 

“There’s no need for that,” said Crowley, swiping his thumb gently across Aziraphale’s cheek, just under the rim of his glasses. “Just for the record, I really like spending time with you, too.” 

Though his face was still damp with tears, Aziraphale smiled brightly at him. “Oh, thank you.” 

Crowley smiled back at him; it was hard not to. In a pinch, Aziraphale’s angelic smile could likely be weaponized in some sort of holy war. “Will you...are you going to break up with him?” 

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, his expression one of determination. “Yes, absolutely. Honestly, I probably should have done it ages ago.” 

“Don’t feel bad about that, I know what it’s like to get stuck in a bad relationship,” said Crowley. He hesitated, all his old reflexes telling him not to divulge too much. But Aziraphale had just shared something very important with him, and he thought it only fair to return the favor. “My first boyfriend, at uni, was pretty controlling. Plus, er, I was basically just his sidepiece. I still don’t really understand how he was able to hide his girlfriend from me. Maybe I was just dense, I dunno.”

“Oh, my dear. I’m sure that wasn’t the case,” said Aziraphale, bringing his hand up to caress Crowley’s face. 

They were standing very close once again, and Crowley could smell Aziraphale’s cologne -- something light and clean with a hint of lavender. This time Aziraphale moved first, pressing his lips to Crowley's, his hands at Crowley's hips. For someone who was always buttoned up in endless layers, and who spoke like an old-fashioned professor, Aziraphale knew his way around a kiss. When he slid his tongue along Crowley's bottom lip, Crowley opened to him, moaning softly. The kiss went on for ages, deepening and becoming ever more urgent until Aziraphale pressed their hips together.

“Hey," said Crowley, pulling back. "Not here. I...I want to, but not here."

"You're right," said Aziraphale, looking quite dazed. His lips were swollen, his eyes a bit hazy. "Yes, of course."

Crowley cupped his hands around Aziraphale's cherubic face and ran his thumb along his bottom lip. "You talk to that boyfriend of yours, and then we’ll get together at my place and do this properly. Deal?” 

Aziraphale pursed his lips to kiss the tip of Crowley's thumb. "Deal."

* * * * * *

“He took me to his bookshop.”

“I was _just_ about to start a Netflix binge.” 

“Anything good?” 

“Enh, probably not as good as what you’re about to tell me.” 

Crowley dropped his messenger bag on the floor and locked the door to his flat. “He’s got a boyfriend.” 

Anathema let out a burst of laughter. “Why didn’t you lead with that one? I’m sure the bookshop is awesome, but there’s your bombshell.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Crowley, as he loosened his tie and flopped onto his sofa. “Apparently, he’s an absolute asshat. You remember I told you he was stood up on his birthday? That was the boyfriend.” 

“Oh, Jesus,” said Anathema, and Crowley could hear her eye roll. “Is he gonna leave him?”

“He says he is,” said Crowley, trailing off, leaving it dangling.

Anathema finished the thought for him. “But you’re not so sure.”

Aziraphale’s news had been surprising, and yet it hadn’t been. Looking back, it actually made perfect sense. He’d turned Crowley down when he’d first asked him out, and he’d been just a bit distant at Mango. This explained why he hadn’t agreed right away to a second date. Something must have happened to make Aziraphale take him out for sushi.

Crowley made a series of unintelligible noises. “I dunno, s’just...how can you know?” 

“I guess you can’t,” said Anathema. “How does it feel to be a mistress?”

“Shitty,” said Crowley, but it was only half true. Aziraphale’s confession hadn’t made him feel as gross as he might have thought. If the boyfriend really was an abusive douchebag, it made sense that Aziraphale was looking elsewhere. And Aziraphale was wonderful; he deserved to be with someone who wanted him, fully, and Crowley certainly did.

“So what do I do?” he asked, though he already had thoughts on the matter.

“Depends on the risk you want to take now,” said Anathema. “This could be a fun fling for a bit, even if he doesn’t leave the asshat. But do you want this to be just a fling?”

“No. Definitely not.” 

“Then you should really think before you do anything else,” said Anathema. “You’re not in too deep, you might still get out unscathed.” 

“Oh, but I am in too deep,” said Crowley, one hand over his eyes. “I’ve been sucked in by his waistcoats and that fucking smile.”

Anathema sighed. “I don’t know what else to tell you, man. It’s not like I’m a wealth of relationship knowledge, sitting here with my Netflix queue. But this much I can promise you -- I’ll be here if you need someone to scrape you off the floor later.” 

“Thanks for that, I guess,” said Crowley, with a snort.

After Anathema hung up to return to her date with Netflix, Crowley remained horizontal on the couch. He thought about what she’d said, about getting out relatively unscathed. Maybe, he thought, maybe he could pull that off; he certainly had in the past. But he’d always felt like he held the cards before, like he was the flame attracting the moths. This time he was the helpless moth, and Aziraphale was blazing like the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments!! You have no idea how much they boost my mood each Friday, you've been so wonderful. <3 I sincerely apologize for the angst and pain to come -- Aziraphale doesn't understand that he holds the key to his own happiness, and Crowley tends to make poor decisions. 
> 
> I'm @truncated-symphony on tumblr, and all I do is scream about Good Omens.


	5. anything to get to the rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listen,” he said. “If you’re stuck with leftovers anyway, why not share those leftovers with someone? I mean. I’ve got some old takeaway, too. Why don’t you...you wanna come to my place?”

It was a few days before Crowley saw Aziraphale again. In that time, he convinced himself to mellow. He avoided texting Aziraphale, and he tried not to think about him endlessly. He was going to do this right -- he was going to wait until Aziraphale had actually broken up with the asshat. In the meantime, he would save up every scrap of tenderness he felt and dream up the perfect way to lavish it upon Aziraphale when the time came. Yes, he thought, it would be smooth sailing now. 

All of this work was completely undone when he did see him, at the end of that week. 

Aziraphale looked exhausted when he got on the train that evening. His hair was fluffed up, as though he’d been pulling at it in frustration, and his bowtie was actually undone, hanging loose at his collar. When he sat down, he leaned his head against the nearest pole, and Crowley wanted nothing more than for Aziraphale to lean against him. 

Crowley approached slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Aziraphale?” 

The man’s eyes snapped open, and as soon as he saw it was Crowley, his expression turned into a wide, relieved smile. “Hello, my dear. I haven’t seen you in a few days.” 

“I know,” said Crowley, sitting down next to him. “We’re at the mercy of the trains.” 

“I’m glad they’ve taken pity on us tonight,” said Aziraphale. He reached out and placed his hand on top of Crowley’s.

“Are you all right?” Crowley asked him, trying not to swallow his own tongue. “You look a bit...shattered.” 

Aziraphale laughed and, regrettably, took his hand back to rub at his eyes. “I am, if I’m honest. It’s been a hell of a week at work, I must say. We’re all trying very hard to meet some deadlines and get pages to our printer. I think we’ll just make it, if it doesn’t kill us first.” 

“Sorry you’re so tired,” said Crowley. “Y’know, I just about fainted when I saw your bowtie was undone.” 

Aziraphale gasped, one hand flying to his throat. “Oh, good Lord. I undid it after lunchtime and forgot all about it. I must look an absolute mess.” 

Aziraphale set his satchel down between his feet and grasped either end of his bowtie. He then proceeded to retie it without so much as a glance in the window opposite him. Crowley watched his plump fingers move deftly, crossing fabric over fabric and tugging just enough to create the perfect, crisp bow. When he was finished, he smoothed one hand over his hair, forcing it to behave a bit more. He looked fresher, more alert, though Crowley could still see the weariness in his eyes. 

“Wow,” he said, his throat feeling dry all of a sudden. “You can just...you can do that without a mirror, eh?”

“Yes, well, it’s taken years of practice,” said Aziraphale. “It’s a good party trick, I suppose.” 

It took every last inch of Crowley’s self-control, which was already thin on the ground, to not blurt out some horrible pick-up line like, _well there’s a party in my pants, and you’re invited._ No, instead he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, turning toward Aziraphale. 

“Have you, er, talked to that boyfriend of yours?” he asked. “S’just, I mean, I’m sure you would have texted me if you had. But I figured I would ask. Just wondering. Casually wondering.” 

“Very casual, indeed,” said Aziraphale, with a smirk. “I’m afraid I simply haven’t had the chance. He’s stayed late at the office every night this week, much later than I have. And before you ask, he’s already texted to say he’ll be late again tonight.” 

“I see.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “I suppose it’ll be another night of leftover takeaway with my book. I have to admit I’ve been rather lonely this week.”

“Terrible.” 

“And with work being so busy, the evenings are really the only time I have to myself. But I’ve just been so exhausted. I keep falling asleep on the sofa, it’s a bit pathetic.”

Crowley couldn’t decide whether Aziraphale was doing this accidentally or on purpose. Given how eager he’d been at the bookshop, and how tired he was, it was probably a bit of both. A very bad idea forced itself to the top of Crowley’s mind. It had been swimming near the surface since Aziraphale had first got on the train, and now it was coming up for air. Crowley knew he should shove it back down, drown it under the better intentions with which he’d begun his day, but he was weak. 

“Listen,” he said. “If you’re stuck with leftovers anyway, why not share those leftovers with someone? I mean. I’ve got some old takeaway, too. Why don’t you...you wanna come to my place?” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Crowley cringed at himself. This was somehow worse than his pick-up line about the party in his pants. And yet, instead of rolling his eyes or dismissing him straight away, Aziraphale smiled at him, his gaze soft and open. Crowley couldn’t resist; he leaned forward and kissed him. Aziraphale tasted of breath mints and some kind of chocolate. He parted his lips, letting Crowley in, letting Crowley take the lead. 

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, when they broke apart. “Let’s go.” 

It felt good, it felt so sinfully good. Crowley slid his fingers in between Aziraphale’s and held his hand all the way to Mayfair.

As they walked from the station, Aziraphale remarked on the loveliness of the neighborhood and Crowley just watched him look around. In the lift up to the flat, Aziraphale suddenly turned to him with that worried crease between his eyebrows.

“Are you sure this is all right?” he asked. “I mean, at the bookshop, you said we should wait until I’d broken things off. Are you quite sure you want to now?” 

Crowley looked him up and down and then stepped closer to him. “I really am. I’m very sure. Besides, you’re going to do it soon, right?”

“Yes. Very soon,” said Aziraphale. “As soon as I possibly can.” 

“Right. So. Does it matter to you? Would you rather wait?” 

In response, Aziraphale leaned in for another kiss, one hand coming up to the back of Crowley’s head. Crowley, with utter mortification, heard himself whimper as Aziraphale slid his fingers into his hair. Aziraphale pushed him gently until his back hit the wall of the lift, and then he felt the press of Aziraphale’s body, the swell of his belly and his strong chest meeting Crowley’s own thin frame. When the lift dinged, signalling that they’d reached Crowley’s floor, he was already half hard. Aziraphale didn’t move right away, so Crowley flung one arm out to press the “hold door” button. 

“Oh, my,” said Aziraphale, breathless. “I never do things like this.”

Crowley swallowed, giving his brain a moment to catch up. “You don’t have to. Just say the word and we can stop.” 

Aziraphale shook his head and took a fortifying breath. “Lead the way.” 

Crowley’s head was all scrambled as they left the lift, and he had to force himself to concentrate on finding the right door and getting his key to work in the lock. Somehow he managed to let them into his flat, and it was then that he realized he was letting Aziraphale see his sanctuary. As scary was that was, as fast as they were going, it felt right. 

After locking up, Crowley let his messenger bag fall to the floor. Following his lead, Aziraphale set his satchel down beside it. Crowley’s traitorous mind grabbed onto that image like a limpet, planning out a whole future in under five seconds, one where they rode the train home together and cooked dinner side by side in the kitchen. He had to shake his head to stop himself thinking any more about that. 

“So, this is it,” he said, forcing himself to be calm. “Did you want to see the plants?” 

“Oh, yes!” said Aziraphale, as he shrugged off his coat. “Where shall I hang this?” 

“Ah, in the closet, just there,” said Crowley. 

He watched as Aziraphale slid his grand, old-fashioned coat onto one of his cheap wire hangers and placed it back in the closet. Then he held out his hand for Crowley’s coat, and it took Crowley a moment to understand what he was doing. He slipped out of his overcoat and handed it over, along with his scarf. Aziraphale took great care in winding the scarf around the hook of the hanger. Something about the whole scene made Crowley’s chest ache. 

The best feature of the flat, as far as Crowley was concerned, was the set of bay windows in the living room. After about five years getting acquainted with the place and deciding that he would definitely stay, he’d started up his home garden. The corner with the bay windows was the logical choice for it, even if it meant that Crowley essentially watched telly in the midst of a small jungle. He liked it that way, and it allowed him to keep an eye on each of his little green projects, and keep them in line. 

“Oh, they’re gorgeous!” Aziraphale exclaimed, hurrying over to examine each of the plants. 

“They’re all right,” said Crowley. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorway. “Some of them can still be improved. Don’t even think about fawning over the Chinese evergreen. He’s been starting to brown.” 

Aziraphale straightened up from where he’d been admiring the African violets and turned to Crowley. “My dear, you mustn’t talk like that. I’m sure they’re doing the best they can in a London flat.” 

“Well. Some are doing better than others,” said Crowley. “Ignore the evergreen, take a look at the philodendron. Don’t coddle her or anything, but she’s looking quite good.” 

“Oh, my, yes,” said Aziraphale, gently stroking the large leaves. “You’re just gorgeous.” 

Again, Crowley had to bite his tongue before he said something asinine. He managed to keep it to himself as he wondered whether Aziraphale might talk to him like that while he stroked him gently. He supposed he’d find out in due time. Aziraphale moved on from the philodendron to admire his monstera and the selection of spider plants he had hanging from the curtain rods. Eventually he started talking to the violets, and Crowley had to stop him there. 

“Hey, er, did you want to eat? I think I’ve got some dumplings or something in the fridge.” 

“Splendid,” said Aziraphale. He stroked his finger over a violet petal once more, and then turned around, a beatific smile on his face. “Thank you for sharing your plants with me, they’re truly wonderful.”

Crowley opened his mouth but the words got caught somewhere in his chest. He cleared his throat and pointed toward the kitchen. “Right. I’ll just...I’ll warm things up. You can wait out here. Haven’t got a dining table, I’m afraid. No room for it.”

“Quite all right,” said Aziraphale. He sat down on Crowley’s sofa, patting the cushions appreciatively. “I’ve eaten my fair share of sofa suppers.” 

Crowley smiled and nodded to him, and then escaped to the kitchen. For a moment, he simply leaned back against the fridge door and took deep breaths. This was so much -- first he’d been snogged within an inch of his life in the lift, and now Aziraphale was sitting on his sofa, looking all comfortable and _right._ He’d possibly made a very big mistake. As he gathered himself and started plating up his pathetic leftovers, Crowley’s brain warred against itself. Aziraphale still had a boyfriend, but he’d promised to leave him. He hadn’t actually taken any steps toward that yet, but he was here and his lips were so soft and he was wearing that midnight blue shirt with a lovely tweed waistcoat.

The irresponsible half of Crowley’s brain won in a landslide, because it usually did. He got lost in thought while the microwave whirred, replaying the epic snog and getting all worked up again after his deep, calming breaths. When the machine beeped at him (rather rudely, he thought), Crowley jolted back to reality and told himself to just focus on the food for now.

“I’ve got dumplings, and a bit of fried rice, and there was only one spring roll left, so that’s yours. Oh, and a few short ribs.” 

Crowley handed Aziraphale one of the plates, the one with the spring roll on, and sat down beside him. This was so much more intimate than eating together in a restaurant. They were ensconced in surroundings he usually experienced alone, adjacent to his plants and mere steps away from his bedroom. It was kind of wreaking havoc with his appetite, but he forced himself to eat something. 

“Mm, very good,” said Aziraphale, crunching into the spring roll. “It’s always good to find takeaway that will reheat well.” 

“I’ve got my regular rotation,” said Crowley. “Not as fancy as Miyama, but it gets the job done.” 

“One can’t have fancy sushi dinners every night,” said Aziraphale. “Even I would get tired of that. Well...perhaps not.” 

Aziraphale ate slowly, savoring every morsel of the reheated food as though it were gourmet. When he tried the short ribs, Crowley was treated to another delighted moan, like the one at Mango. He just barely succeeded in not tackling Aziraphale right then and there. Slowing down to eat at Aziraphale’s pace rather than at his usual breakneck speed helped to calm him again. But eventually they finished and Aziraphale reached out to touch Crowley’s knee, ever so gently. 

“Thank you for inviting me over,” he said. “Did you...erm, that is…”

How could this be the same man who’d snogged him into oblivion in the lift? In one fluid motion, Crowley set his plate on the coffee table and reached out to cup Aziraphale’s face in his hands. They stared at each other for a moment, and Crowley felt as though he could simply fall forward into Aziraphale’s twinkling eyes. He leaned in to kiss him softly, sighing as Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. 

Aziraphale pulled back to look at him. “Apologies for the awkward question, my dear, but have you been tested recently?” 

“Oh,” said Crowley. “Yeah, of course. At my last check-up. Seemed like a formality given...well, anyway. I’m all good. You?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Just a few months ago. No problems.”

“Good. That’s good,” said Crowley, feeling a bit dumb as his heart thumped against his ribcage. This was really happening, and he couldn’t think of anything clever to say.

Aziraphale leaned in again, this time pressing kisses along Crowley’s jaw. “May I taste you?”

Crowley shuddered -- zero to one hundred in less than five minutes. At first he didn’t know what to do with that question. He was lost in the feeling of Aziraphale’s soft lips on his face, and his brain supplied the rather stupid answer, “You already are.” 

Aziraphale chuckled softly, fondly. “I meant in a more intimate way.” 

Then Aziraphale began moving steadily downward, kissing at Crowley’s neck and unbuttoning his shirt to get at his collarbones, and Crowley understood. He leaned back against the arm rest of the sofa and Aziraphale followed him, untucking his shirt so he could get his hands up along Crowley’s ribcage. Then down to his hips and swiftly along to his belt, which Aziraphale unfastened before unzipping his fly. Here, he paused and looked up at Crowley through his lashes.

“Is this all right?” he asked. 

Crowley nearly laughed, but he was too overwhelmed for anything more than a breathy whimper. “Yes. God, yes, please.” 

As Aziraphale took him into his mouth, Crowley began rehearsing his apologies. He was going to come far too quickly, and he was already worried it would sneak up on him, that he wouldn’t have time to warn Aziraphale. He reached down to thread his fingers into Aziraphale’s hair, to touch the downy fluff, to make it just as messy as it had been when he’d got on the train. Aziraphale hummed around him, and that just about did it. 

“Fuck, Aziraphale, I’m just...I’m right there.”

Crowley tried his best to control his jerking hips as he came, not wanting to force himself on Aziraphale. He made the mistake of looking down and was greeted by the sight of Aziraphale, eyes closed as though he were enjoying a particularly tasty dessert, drinking him down eagerly. He threw his head back against the sofa and flung an arm over his eyes, trying not to moan too pathetically as waves of pleasure crested over him. 

As soon as he was able to think clearly again, Crowley hauled Aziraphale up to his mouth and kissed him deeply, tasting himself on Aziraphale’s tongue. When was the last time he’d done this? When was the last time something like this had happened on his sofa? He genuinely couldn’t remember, and it wouldn’t matter if he could. All that mattered in that moment was Aziraphale’s hot breath in his mouth, and his soft hair between his fingers. 

When Aziraphale pulled back, he stayed close, nosing gently at the side of Crowley’s face. “Was that good?” 

“Yeah,” said Crowley, laughing weakly. “Yeah, it really fucking was.”

“Mmm, I’m glad,” said Aziraphale, all but purring in his ear. “Do you have condoms?”

“Fuck,” Crowley breathed, mentally kicking himself for his lack of forethought. “I don’t. It’s...sort of been a while since I’ve needed them.” 

“Quite all right,” said Aziraphale, lips pressed to the shell of his ear. 

“C’mere.” Crowley pulled Aziraphale into his lap and reached down to undo his trousers. Aziraphale breathed heavily against his ear, providing an obscene soundtrack as he slipped a hand inside his boxers and freed his cock. 

“Oh. Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale bucked up into his fist immediately, his head coming to rest on Crowley’s shoulder. “Oh, just like that…”

Crowley stroked him firmly, his free hand caressing the back of his neck. He wanted to fold Aziraphale up inside his arms and hold him close forever. He wanted to make himself into a cocoon, somewhere Aziraphale could feel safe, something he could come home to. The deep end was getting deeper, and Crowley’s legs were growing tired. He could so easily let go and drown in this. It would be so easy to lose himself in how good it felt to hold Aziraphale close. 

Aziraphale began repeating his name, a litany of high-pitched sounds that became more and more desperate until he spilled over Crowley’s hand, onto his shirt and trousers. Crowley stroked him through it and turned his head to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek. As he came down, breathing heavily, Aziraphale met him in a sloppy kiss. 

“Oh my,” he said. “That was...oh, that was wonderful.” 

Crowley smiled and kissed him again, softer this time. “Just wait ‘till I get some condoms.”

* * * * * *

Aziraphale lay beside -- but mostly on top of -- Crowley, his body still awash with pleasure. After several more sweet kisses and a few sweetly murmured words, Crowley’s eyes had drifted shut. Now he was dozing, but not fully asleep, and Aziraphale was trying to remain still so as not to disturb him. He shifted carefully so he could look at him more easily, admire his face in repose. Crowley’s hair was slightly mussed, his collar still unbuttoned and his head tilted back to expose the long column of his throat. Aziraphale wanted to kiss his way up that throat and leave a mark just below his ear.

The evening had been blissful, and Aziraphale’s hard day at work was all but forgotten. Work could rear its head again in the morning; for now he laid his head against Crowley’s chest and pretended. He pretended that, in a few minutes, he could gently nudge Crowley and tell him it was time for bed. They could amble away from the sofa together and strip down to their pants, snuggle against each other in bed and wake up together. 

Of course, he couldn’t stay the night. There was another flat waiting for him, and someone else with whom he’d wake up. He hadn’t imagined it would be this difficult to break things off with Gabriel. But it was making Aziraphale realize just how little time Gabriel actually spent with him, in their flat. Each day he came home late from work, and each morning he left early for work. Aziraphale knew his job was demanding, but weren’t they supposed to be sharing a life together? 

“Ow,” said Crowley, suddenly, his eyebrows drawing together in pain. 

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,” said Aziraphale, sliding swiftly away from him. “I didn’t mean to crush you.”

Crowley caught him around the waist, one long arm reeling him back in as he shifted onto his side. “No, you’re fine. You’re more than fine, I like you right where you are. S’just my hips. Feels better on my side sometimes.” 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, blushing slightly. He ran his hand up and down Crowley’s thigh and was pleased to see the pained expression on his face soften. “Does that help?”

“A bit, yeah,” said Crowley. “Helps distract me, at least. Thanks. And thanks for the...you didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” said Aziraphale. He pushed himself up so he could kiss Crowley, a long, lingering kiss that only intensified his desire to curl up beside him and fall asleep.

“Let me know when you need to go,” said Crowley, very softly, one hand pressed to Aziraphale’s chest. 

Aziraphale sighed. “Probably soon, I’m afraid. Though I hope you know that I would stay, if I could. I would very much like to stay here, with you.”

In response, Crowley cupped his face and pulled him in for a kiss that he felt in his toes. “One day soon, yeah?” 

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “Soon.” 

It took a herculean effort to tear himself away from Crowley and stand up to straighten his clothes, but Aziraphale managed it somehow. As he zipped up his trousers, he noticed a small wet patch at the bottom edge of his waistcoat.

“Oh, dear,” he said, brushing at it with his finger. “Do you, erm, have a damp cloth?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’ll do much,” said Crowley. He unfolded himself from the sofa and stretched his arms up over his head, his trousers still undone and gaping comically. He glanced down at his own shirt and snorted. “If it makes you feel any better, I got the worst of it.”

“Oh, no,” said Aziraphale, frowning. “I’m so sorry, my dear. Cold water will sort that out. I’ll just spot clean myself when I get home.” 

Crowley gave him a goofy smile and stepped up to him, arms looping around his waist. “Next time, fewer clothes.”

“Yes, please,” said Aziraphale. 

At length, and after many more kisses, Aziraphale left Crowley’s flat. The journey in the lift, the walk to the station, and the train ride home were all a blur. Aziraphale felt like he was sleepwalking, or that he’d left his body with Crowley. Only a small part of him was returning home, and perhaps it had been this way for a while now. But where had he been leaving the rest of himself before now -- at work?

Gabriel was asleep on the sofa, snoring softly in the flicker of the television. Aziraphale stood at the front door, removing his coat as quietly as possible. How long had Gabriel been asleep? How much could he adjust the time that he’d arrived home? Aziraphale left his shoes at the door and crept closer, watching the man he’d lived with for five years. Not a single strand of his dark brown hair was out of place, even this late at night. His mouth hung open slightly as he slept, but he still managed to look handsome.

Aziraphale decided not to wake him. Later, in the middle of the night, he groggily registered the bed dipping as Gabriel climbed in beside him. He draped one arm over Aziraphale’s waist, and all Aziraphale could think about was how Crowley had pulled him close on the sofa. 

“I saw your waistcoat in the bathroom,” Gabriel said the next morning. “A spill?” 

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, taking a sip of tea. “Salad dressing, at lunch.”

“Ah, only you could make a salad messy,” said Gabriel.

“I’m sure other people have dripped salad dressing on themselves,” said Aziraphale.

“Maybe those unfamiliar with salads,” said Gabriel, with a smirk. He leaned in to kiss Aziraphale on the cheek. “I’m in court today, and I’ll probably go out for drinks later.”

“Jolly good,” said Aziraphale, forcing himself to smile. “Best of luck, dear.” 

After Gabriel left, Aziraphale counted to ten. Then he said to the empty flat, “I’ve met someone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As HAIM recently said, "damn, I'm in it."
> 
> I'm @truncated-symphony on tumblr! Come scream with me.


	6. burnt-out streetlight, only halfway home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nah, we just needed to get it out of our system. S’fine, he’s going to break up with the guy, and then we’ll have all the time in the world.” 
> 
> “I don’t believe you…”

The day after Aziraphale came to dinner at his place, Crowley made a lunchtime trip to the drugstore. He meandered for a bit, grabbing a few snacks for his desk and a new plant mister that he didn’t really need. Then he speed-walked through the “sexual health” aisle, picking up a box of condoms on his way to the tills. No one cared, of course -- the cashier didn’t bat an eyelash -- but Crowley was a bit embarrassed by his own eagerness. 

Anathema had been wrapped up in an all-morning meeting, but she was back at her desk when Crowley returned from lunch. She eyed him suspiciously, and he had the horrible feeling that she could see straight into his plastic bag, right past the snacks. 

“Something’s different,” she said, watching him bustle into his cubicle. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” he said, dropping the bags of Twiglets and Maltesers into his desk drawer. 

“Come on, what did I miss?” she asked. “Do you have news to share? Don’t you hold out on me, you know I live for this shit.”

“All right, fine!” Crowley hissed. He leaned forward, hands on the dividing wall between them. “He came over to my place last night.” 

Anathema’s eyes were as big as her grin. “Oh my _god._ Trust Bee to schedule a meeting for this morning, when you have the biggest news of all. Does this mean he broke up with the asshole?”

Crowley hesitated, and then shook his head. He expected the reaction, but he still flinched when Anathema gasped and stood up so she was level with him. 

“Are you kidding me?” she said, just barely managing to keep her voice down. “Anthony J. Crowley, are you out of your mind? Remember what we talked about?”

“Yeah, it’s all crystal clear up here,” said Crowley, pointing at his temple. “Other parts of my body have other ideas, is all. 

“Well, you have been in a pretty dry spell.” 

“Hey, I don’t share my gossip with you just to be insulted.” 

“I’m just saying.” Anathema sat back down but continued to peer at him. “Are you gonna do it again?” 

Crowley thought about the condoms and decided to lie. With a shrug of his shoulders he said, “Nah, I guess we just needed to get it out of our system. S’fine, he’s going to break up with the guy, and then we’ll have all the time in the world.” 

“I don’t believe you,” said Anathema, in a sing-song voice. 

For two days, Aziraphale was nowhere to be seen on the train. Crowley looked for him each morning and each evening, and he even toyed with the idea of changing cars at each stop to see if he could find him. But that would have been ridiculous, so he forced himself to stay put and ride the waves of fate. Stupid fate. He could text Aziraphale, but he didn’t want to be too pushy. He’d already impulsively invited him over for an evening of debauchery and dumplings. Besides, maybe Aziraphale had succeeded in breaking up with his asshole and would be triumphantly texting him soon. 

Eventually fate became his friend once more when he spotted Aziraphale on his evening commute later that week. Though he looked tired again, Aziraphale’s eyes lit up as soon as he spotted Crowley. The very sight of him, with a blue and tan tartan scarf wound around his neck, made Crowley’s heart beat faster. He was like Pavlov’s dog -- see Aziraphale, feel cheered up.

“Hello, dear boy,” said Aziraphale, when they met in the middle of the train car.

“Hi,” said Crowley, feeling rather stupid in the presence of this sunshine-y man. “How’ve you been?”

“Fair to middling,” said Aziraphale, with a soft sigh. “Though quite good today, actually. We sent a book off to the printer. We’re far from finished, of course, but it’s good to have this step complete.” 

“Hey, congrats!” said Crowley. “You should celebrate.”

“Mm, I had thought of that,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley gulped as he realized where this evening was headed. More good intentions were about to be flung straight out the window. There was no possible way for him to resist the hungry look that Aziraphale had fixed him with. Well, technically speaking, he could delve into a store of will power that he did not have and tell Aziraphale they shouldn’t do this again. But the part of his brain that supplied that solution was very small indeed. A much larger part of his brain was fixated on the blue-green shine of Aziraphale’s eyes, and the way his nose turned up at the end. He was standing very close, Crowley could easily kiss him. 

“I have to ask,” said Crowley, the small part of his brain weaseling its way to the forefront. “Have you, er...have you had a chance to talk to your...dude?” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “I’m afraid not. My ‘dude,’ as you say, has been in court every day this week -- as a lawyer, mind, not being tried. There simply hasn’t been time for me to get a word in edgewise. This morning he woke up later than normal, grabbed a banana for breakfast, and was out the door before I’d hardly had a chance to say ‘good morning.’”

Crowley’s mind reeled at the amount of personal details he now had about Aziraphale’s wanker boyfriend. He would fixate on each of them later, he was sure, but at the moment he couldn’t stop thinking about some tall, handsome git wearing a barrister’s wig. 

“Well,” he said. “Should we wait? We should probably wait. I mean. You’ll have a chance to talk to him soon, right?” 

“Yes, of course,” said Aziraphale. “I’m sure of it.”

There. It would only be a matter of time, and Crowly could wait. He wasn’t some hormone-riddled teenager, he could be an adult about this and wait until they could actually be together, properly. Even as he tried to convince himself of this, he knew what would happen when he got home. He’d see the box of condoms he’d bought, think about their night together, and then have a furious wank in the shower. Not ideal, but at least it might calm him down. 

“Although,” said Aziraphale, one finger raised. 

“I’m listening.” 

“Things have already, erm, taken place,” said Aziraphale. “There is that old saying, in for a penny…”

Crowley was already nodding eagerly. “You make an excellent point.”

“Then, shall we?”

“My place, yes.” 

Aziraphale was radiant in the glow of the streetlights as they walked from the station to the flat, and Crowley couldn’t take his eyes off him. When Aziraphale turned to smile at him, Crowley blurted out, “You look like an angel.” 

Aziraphale’s smile grew wider, and he chuckled softly. “What are you on about?” 

“The...the light, and your hair,” Crowley stammered, feeling himself blush. “Sorta looks like a halo.”

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” said Aziraphale, glancing down at his feet. The streetlights glinted off his little spectacles.

“Can’t imagine why not,” said Crowley. “You’re gorgeous.” 

Aziraphale looked at him, the expression on his face caught between gratitude and surprise. Crowley hated that this kind, wonderful man would be surprised to be complimented. Who had made him believe that he didn’t deserve to be spoken to like this? Was it his wanker boyfriend? Suddenly Crowley found that he wanted nothing more than to punch the man in the face. Well, there was perhaps one thing he wanted more than that. 

“Can we…,” he gulped, finding it hard to say the actual words. “Erm, that is...I went to the drugstore this week. Made a little trip, got some supplies.” 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, the surprise on his face shifting easily to the hunger he’d shown Crowley before. “Yes, of course, my dear. Whatever you’d like.” 

Crowley sidled closer to him so their shoulders bumped together. “I’d like to make love to you, angel.”

Aziraphale stopped walking, so Crowley stopped too. They stood there for a moment, and at first Crowley thought that Aziraphale was about to cry. But then he reached out to pull Crowley in for a kiss, gentle at first and then deeper. 

“Please,” said Aziraphale, eyes flicking from Crowley’s lips up to his eyes. 

How could Crowley ever deny him anything? 

There was no electrifying snog in the lift this time. They simply rode up side by side, shoulders pressed together, heat and desire radiating between them. When the doors slid open, Crowley motioned for Aziraphale to go first, and he felt a little thrill when he saw that Aziraphale remembered the way to his door. Though Crowley felt like he might shake right out of his clothes, he paused to hang up their coats and Aziraphale’s scarf in the closet. He felt another thrill, and his mind slid easily into fantasyland, wherein they’d come home together to a space they shared.

“Do you need anything?” Crowley asked him. “Want something to drink?” 

Aziraphale shook his head and stepped closer. “Only you. Please.” 

Crowley kissed him, and he felt Aziraphale’s hands run up his back, and from that moment he could think of nothing else. He steered them toward the bedroom, touching every part of Aziraphale he could manage as they went. Crowley backed him up to the bed and they paused, completely wrapped up in each other, with hands everywhere and urgent kisses. 

“Do we have time?” said Crowley, kissing Aziraphale’s jaw, nosing at the fold of skin below his chin. 

“Time for what?” said Aziraphale, hands working at Crowley’s shirt buttons. 

“To do this properly,” said Crowley. “I...I don’t want to rush it.”

Aziraphale sighed and pulled away to slide his phone from his trouser pocket. He glanced at the time and thought for a moment. “Yes, I think we’ll be all right.”

“Good,” said Crowley. “May I?” When Aziraphale nodded, Crowley carefully slid the spectacles from his nose and set them down on his nightstand. Then he pressed in close for another long kiss. He heard a soft _thud_ as Aziraphale’s phone fell to the floor. 

It had been a cold day, and Aziraphale was wearing the light blue jumper Crowley had admired months before. He pulled the jumper up over Aziraphale’s head, smiling when he saw what that did to his hair. He tugged at the ends of Aziraphale’s bowtie and placed it on top of the discarded sweater. As Crowley undressed him, Aziraphale simply watched, almost in amazement. But when Crowley started on the buttons of his dress shirt, Aziraphale grabbed his hands and fixed him with an anxious look.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked. “Please be sure.”

Crowley kissed him and slid his hands down to his belly. “I’m absolutely sure. I know what you look like, angel, and I’ve just said you’re gorgeous.” 

“Yes. Yes, of course,” said Aziraphale, a bit breathless. “J-just want you to know what you’re getting into.” 

Crowley locked eyes with him, wanting to make this perfectly clear. “I _know._ And I want you so badly that it’s taking everything in my power not to fucking ruin you.”

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his chest, something flashed in his eyes. “Ruin me.” 

Crowley grappled with the buttons of his dress shirt, hands shaking with how much he wanted to touch Aziraphale’s skin. Of course (he should have known), he was greeted with an undershirt beneath the dress shirt. 

“You know those gifts,” said Crowley. “Where someone puts a box inside another box, and you just have to keep unwrapping? That’s you.” 

Aziraphale giggled, relaxing a bit once more. “I like to be properly dressed.” 

“Well. You look amazing, but fuck I just want to touch you.” 

Crowley slid Aziraphale’s braces off his shoulders, and then Aziraphale shucked off his dress shirt and wrenched his undershirt over his head in one quick movement. He stood there, watching Crowley, waiting for a reaction. Crowley took him in, eyes raking over his strong chest, his thick arms, and the swell of his belly. He knew he was ogling him, but now it was allowed. Now it was just the two of them, and Crowley couldn’t believe that this beautiful man had agreed to come home with him -- twice! He leaned in to kiss the base of Aziraphale’s throat and slowly work his way downward.

“M-my dear,” said Aziraphale, a bit shakily. “I feel a bit foolish, standing here like this when you’re still dressed.” 

“Right. Yeah, sorry.” Crowley dragged himself away from Aziraphale’s soft skin and stood up to wrench free the knot of his tie and hurriedly remove his own shirt. He reached for his belt but then noticed Aziraphale moving closer, an awestruck look on his face. 

“You’re lovely,” he said, fingers trailing down Crowley’s thin chest and along his ribs. 

Crowley shivered, taken aback by how gently and reverently Aziraphale touched him. Something reared up in his chest and he tried to push it back down. This was supposed to be about Aziraphale, about making him feel good. But now Crowley felt the urge to lay back on the bed and let Aziraphale discover him inch by inch, as though he were some ancient artifact that had just been waiting for him. 

“Well,” Crowley began, but he found that he didn’t have a retort at the ready. Instead he simply leaned in to kiss Aziraphale again and again. 

Eventually, somewhere in amongst all the desperate kissing, they both managed to get their trousers and pants out of the way. And then there was nothing else for it -- Crowley gently pushed Aziraphale back against the bed again, and Aziraphale let himself down onto the duvet. Laid out like that, all pale skin and soft rolls against the dark gray bedding, Aziraphale was delectable. Crowley told him so, and the blush that bloomed on Aziraphale’s cheeks only made him prettier. 

Crowley wanted to return the favor from when Aziraphale had last been in his flat. He took hold of Aziraphale’s hips and pushed gently; Aziraphale took the hint and shimmied his way up the bed until he was lying on the pillows. Crowley settled between his legs and ran his hands along his thighs. Aziraphale shivered and glanced down; Crowley met his gaze and smiled as he ran his fingers delicately along his stretch marks.

“This okay?” he said.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. God, yes.” 

With that, Crowley licked a stripe along the underside of Aziraphale’s cock, fully aroused and pressed against his belly. He grinned at the way Aziraphale moaned and the way that moan intensified as Crowley took him into his mouth. As Crowley began to move, swirling his tongue and hollowing his cheeks, Aziraphale threaded his fingers into Crowley’s hair, pulling slightly. And oh, that sensation shot straight to Crowley’s own cock. He canted his hips, rubbing himself against the bed as he went down on Aziraphale. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale moaned. “Oh, Crowley. W-wait...wait a moment…” 

Crowley came up for air, surreptitiously wiping his mouth as he looked up at Aziraphale. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” said Aziraphale, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “But, my dear, didn’t you say something about a trip to the drugstore?” 

“Mmm,” Crowley hummed happily. “That what you want?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Crowley crawled up the bed and kissed him softly, one hand in his downy hair. “You’re so bloody polite in bed. M’not surprised, though.”

“You don’t find it annoying?”

“No, ‘course not,” said Crowley, punctuating it with another kiss. “Who said it was annoying?”

“No one. Nothing, it’s fine. Just...make love to me?” 

“As you wish,” said Crowley, with a smirk. 

It had been a mortifying amount of time since Crowley had last purchased condoms or had to put one on. But somehow he managed not to tear it or do anything else embarrassing. Lube he had plenty of, so he grabbed a small bottle from his nightstand and slicked up his fingers to start. He spread Aziraphale’s legs, nudged them up to bend at the knee, and shuffled in close again. But suddenly he was struck by something like stage fright. It had been so long, and he just wanted it to be good for Aziraphale.

“All right?” he said, one hand squeezing gently at Aziraphale’s hip.

“Yes. It’s just...it’s been rather a while.” 

Crowley fought off a wave of anger as he realized this probably meant that the stupid wanker boyfriend didn’t fuck Aziraphale very often. How could he possibly resist? 

“We don’t have to,” said Crowley. He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s knee. “We can do something else. There’s so much else we can do.” 

“I want to,” Aziraphale insisted. “I’m just a bit nervous.”

Crowley pushed himself forward, not caring if he got lube on his duvet, and kissed Aziraphale. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m nervous too. I want this to be good for you. Shall we just try our best?”

Aziraphale gazed up at him with wide eyes, and he looked so much like a bloody cherub that Crowley didn’t know what to do with himself. Eventually Aziraphale nodded, “Yes, let’s. You’ll be wonderful, I know you will.” 

That only made Crowley more determined. So he re-slicked his fingers and pressed one gently at Aziraphale’s entrance, watching him for any sign of discomfort. Aziraphale breathed through it, and Crowley took his time, and they met each other somewhere in the middle. Soon Crowley added a second finger, and when he crooked them just so, Aziraphale arched his back up off the bed, crying out with pleasure.

“Oh,” he moaned, covering his eyes with one hand. “Oh, good Lord. Right there...oh, please do it again.”

Crowley obliged, a sense of pride and renewed arousal gripping his chest as Aziraphale cried out again, moaning his name. This -- he wanted more of this. 

“I take it this is going well?” he said, continuing his careful movements. 

“Very well,” said Aziraphale. “In fact, I think I’m quite ready for you.” 

Crowley nodded and gently removed his fingers. He grabbed one of the many excess pillows he had on his bed and motioned for Aziraphale to lift his hips. Crowley placed the pillow there, at the small of his back, to help them both out. Then he moved into position, guided himself in place, and carefully pushed in.

Aziraphale groaned but assured Crowley that he should keep moving. As he pushed in deeper, Crowley leaned forward onto his hands, chest heaving with the effort of keeping things slow. He didn’t want to be rough with Aziraphale, not unless he was asked to be, and he didn’t want to come too quickly. When he’d pushed fully inside, Crowley locked eyes with Aziraphale and found that he was tearing up.

“Is it too much? Should we stop?” he said, hurriedly, caressing Aziraphale’s face.

“No, it’s not that,” said Aziraphale, shaking his head. He didn’t elaborate on what it might be. “I’m fine, I promise. I...I think you should move.” 

Crowley started up a slow rhythm, pulling out and pushing back in, leaning down to kiss Aziraphale because he simply couldn’t resist those plush, pink lips. Eventually they found a speed that worked, that had Crowley moaning softly and Aziraphale pressing his head back into the pillows, a look of utter bliss on his face. 

“Oh, it’s good,” he moaned. “It’s so good, _you’re_ so good…”

Everything Aziraphale said reached straight into Crowley’s chest and squeezed at his heart. He didn’t know quite what to do, it had never been this good before. Yeah, sure, sex usually felt pretty great and orgasms were always appreciated, but this was on another level. No one had ever spoken to him like this, praised him like this in bed. No one had made his chest ache in this oddly pleasant way.

“Crowley?” said Aziraphale. “Would you…”

“Yeah?” 

“Call me angel again?” 

Crowley’s heart clenched. He cradled Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kept up the rhythm of his hips. “Of course, angel. You’re so bloody gorgeous. Like a Renaissance painting, I swear. Angel...oh, angel, you feel so good…”

Now Aziraphale was crying, thin tracks of tears running down his cheeks onto Crowley’s fingers. Crowley wiped them away, even as more came, and leaned down to kiss him again and again. “Are you okay? Tell me if we need to stop.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Aziraphale, wrapping his strong legs around Crowley’s waist. “Please...oh, please keep going.” 

So Crowley did, and he knew right then that he’d do anything Aziraphale asked of him. Anything to produce that sunshine smile, anything to make Aziraphale moan like that. When he could feel himself getting close, Crowley reached down to stroke Aziraphale’s cock. That made him moan even more, and Crowley ducked down to kiss him, swallowing up the delectable sounds he made. Aziraphale came first, gasping Crowley’s name and gripping at his back. Crowley followed him over the edge, face buried in Aziraphale’s neck, pressing all of his moans into that soft, pale skin. 

They stayed wrapped up together for a long while. Crowley shifted his hips to unjoin their bodies, but he remained close otherwise. Aziraphale’s hands relaxed from where they’d gripped at Crowley’s shoulder blades, gently caressing down either side of his spine. Crowley shivered and kissed Aziraphale’s neck, breathed in his clean cologne scent. It was blissful, and Crowley was not yet ready to confront the fact that Aziraphale would need to leave.

At long last they untangled themselves, and Crowley rolled off him, sliding to the edge of the bed and trotting into the bathroom to toss the condom and retrieve a damp flannel. When he returned, he paused to take in the sight of Aziraphale lying on the bed with his eyes closed, a little smile playing about his lips. Then he crawled onto the bed, and Aziraphale’s eyes snapped back open as Crowley began cleaning him up.

“Oh,” he said, blushing as though they hadn’t just been extremely intimate with one another. “Thank you, my dear.” 

“Of course,” said Crowley, smiling at him. He didn’t know what to say. What did one say after the best fuck of one’s life? What could possibly be an adequate response to the way Aziraphale had made him feel?

“I’ve never,” Aziraphale began shakily, and then paused to collect himself. “That was wonderful, my dear. I don’t know when I...you did so well.” 

Crowley let out a breathy laugh and tossed away the flannel. He laid down on his side. “Thanks. You, er, you were pretty great yourself.” 

Aziraphale chuckled in response and then shifted onto his side, too. Crowley looked at him, just looked. He never wanted to not be looking at him. Aziraphale’s cheeks were flushed, and his nose was a bit red from when he’d cried. Crowley reached out to brush at the tip of it gently, his heart jumping out of rhythm when Aziraphale smiled at him. 

“Are you sure you’re all right?” said Crowley. “You, er...do you always cry...d-during?” 

“No,” said Aziraphale, smile faltering. “I’m awfully sorry about that. I suppose I got a bit overwhelmed by it all.” 

“So, it’s been a while?” said Crowley. “Are things that bad with you and whatshisface?” 

“Things aren’t necessarily bad, they’ve just sort of...dried up.” 

Crowley couldn’t tell whether Aziraphale was being honest or simply downplaying the situation, so as not to make him worry. But it was worrying that he’d cried during sex, it was worrying that he seemed unaccustomed to compliments. But Crowley didn’t know how to ask about these things, he didn’t know if it was his place to ask. 

“D’you want something to eat?” he asked. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had dinner.”

“Yes, that would be wonderful,” said Aziraphale. 

“It’s leftovers again,” said Crowley, feeling quite embarrassed by that. He got up on his knees, wincing a bit when his hips cracked. “I do cook sometimes, I promise. Just haven’t had the time.” 

“Anything will do, my dear.” Aziraphale sat up and slid to the edge of the bed. “Shall I help you?”

“No, no. Stay there, really,” said Crowley, grabbing his pants and sliding them up his scrawny legs. “Relax. I’ll just be a minute.” 

Crowley wanted to pamper Aziraphale, to serve him leftovers in bed, but he also needed a moment to himself to think. As he made up two plates of leftover curry, Crowley’s mind spun out, imagining how bad Aziraphale’s relationship might be. Had he cried during sex because he was lonely, or because sex brought up something painful for him? That bastard of a boyfriend hadn’t cared enough to make Aziraphale’s birthday special, so how did he act on any old day? It would haunt him if he didn’t ask, so he’d just have to be gentle in how he did it. 

“Not exactly on par with Mango,” he said, shuffling into the bedroom with a steaming plate in each hand. “But still pretty good, I think.”

“You don’t mind us eating in your bed?” said Aziraphale, taking a plate. He’d put on his pants and undershirt, and his spectacles were perched on his nose once more. 

“Nah, doesn’t matter,” said Crowley, as he climbed up beside him. He was a bit excited, actually, to go to sleep later that evening and remember what they’d done here on his duvet. 

“Mm, delectable,” said Aziraphale, when he took a bite of the curry and rice. Crowley watched him for a moment, the way he eagerly scooped up another forkful and closed his eyes, savoring the leftovers as though they were fine dining. It was adorable. 

“Hey,” said Crowley, as casual as he could manage. “Er, I have to ask. I know you said he doesn’t hit you, and that you’re not in danger, but are you sure you’re okay? I...I could...do you need help getting out of this?” 

Aziraphale set down his fork, eyes flicking up to Crowley’s. “I assure you, it’s nothing I can’t handle. He just...he’s not like you. He doesn’t say lovely things the way you do. We haven’t made love in quite some time either.” 

Crowley put his plate down on the bed and shuffled closer to Aziraphale. He put a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. “Well, he’s an idiot. How could he live with you and not want to fuck you every night?” 

Aziraphale took in a shaky breath and bit his lip. “You see? It’s things like that. He...he doesn’t say things like that, not anymore. I don’t know if he ever did, honestly.” 

“I was joking before,” said Crowley. “But now I really do want to beat this guy up.”

“I’m flattered,” said Aziraphale, smiling. “But I can handle myself, truly. I promise I’ll take care of it soon.” 

“Don’t promise me,” said Crowley. “I’m not expecting or waiting for you to do this, don’t base it on me. You deserve better, angel. And I’m not saying that’s me...you just deserve better.” 

Aziraphale shut his eyes and took a few measured breaths, as though he was trying not to cry again. Then he reached out to cradle Crowley’s cheek in his free hand. Very slowly, he leaned in to kiss him softly.

“You’re so kind,” he whispered against Crowley’s lips.

“M’not,” said Crowley, a response borne out of an old habit.

* * * * * *

The train was far too bright for how Aziraphale felt just then, but he had to get home somehow. That stark fact was writ large on his brain, though his feelings contradicted it so strongly that it seemed wrong to be sitting there amongst the other late-night commuters. Every single bone in his body wanted to be lying beside Crowley, wrapped up in his arms. Yet he was heading for home, whatever that word meant, in rumpled clothes that had been put on hastily as he fought the urge to stand there and kiss Crowley until the sun came up.

The contrast between what were quickly becoming his two lives made Aziraphale feel muddled, out of sorts. He couldn’t keep shifting between them like this, and yet he had no idea how to tunnel his way out of his current situation. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he nearly missed his stop. 

The flat was quiet when he let himself in. Aziraphale checked his phone and saw a text from Gabriel -- he’d been in court all day and went out for drinks with work friends to ‘chill.’ Aziraphale nearly laughed out loud at this, at the fact that Gabriel seemingly had no desire to spend time with him. It hurt a bit less after spending an evening with Crowley, but it still hurt. Wanting to get out of his head, Aziraphale undressed in the bedroom and stood under the shower with the water as hot as he could bear.

After his shower, Aziraphale read in bed until he dozed off, and there was still no sign of Gabriel. No matter how much he wanted to, it seemed that another night would pass without Aziraphale having the chance to make things right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to have other stuff in it, but apparently I get really wordy during sex scenes. I'm enjoying you all decrying their life choices and worrying for Crowley's well-being in the comments. Thank you again for the kind, supportive words! <33
> 
> I'm @truncated-symphony on tumblr!


	7. love me with no hesitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve been fucking for weeks, right?” 
> 
> Crowley froze, burrito halfway to his mouth, sunglasses sliding down his nose. “How’d you know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest, _deepest_ gratitude to @jesswantsitall for reading this chapter when I freaked out about it, and for reassuring me that it would be fine.

Crowley wanted to do the right thing, but he wasn’t sure what that was. Part of him thought it would be best to not sleep with Aziraphale again until he’d sorted things out with his boyfriend. But another part of him wanted to take care of Aziraphale, to make him feel better, and he kept showing up exhausted on the train. Work was tiring him out, he knew that, but Crowley wondered if their whole situation was weighing on him as well. And if it was, was it better to stay away? Crowley spent several nights tying himself in knots like this, with no apparent way to untie them.

No matter how many times Crowley second guessed himself, his actions were always the same. He kept inviting Aziraphale to his place, he kept offering himself up as a safe haven. Over the course of several weeks, they fell into a routine of sorts. They would meet up on the train, Aziraphale would tell him about work, and then Crowley would invite him over. After the first few times, it became too embarrassing to offer up leftovers, so he cooked Aziraphale an old standby pasta dish. Aziraphale, of course, swooned over it as though it were Michelin-star dining. 

Invariably, after they’d eaten (or sometimes before), they would fall into bed together. It was becoming something that Crowley relied on, and that set off alarm bells somewhere in his brain. He was doing a good job of ignoring them so far, but they were getting steadily louder. How much longer, they asked, could he be content with Aziraphale in his life part time? How much longer before he took offense at the fact that Aziraphale had not yet left his boyfriend and his other life? 

“You’ve been fucking for weeks, right?” 

Crowley froze, burrito halfway to his mouth, sunglasses sliding down his nose. “How’d you know?” 

Anathema rolled her eyes. “Please. If I hadn’t suspected already, this little impromptu lunch date would have been enough of a tip off. But it was mainly the bounce in your step.”

Crowley squirmed in his chair, annoyed at the fact that he apparently had a tell. “Okay, fine. Yes, we have been.”

“And you want...advice of some kind?” said Anathema, waving her hand vaguely.

“Sort of just wanted someone to talk to,” said Crowley. He set down his burrito, feeling less hungry all of a sudden. “The sex is amazing. Not to be too TMI or anything. But it really is, like, wow. He cried the first few times, but that’s stopped now.”

Anathema frowned, head cocked to one side. “He cried? Fuck, is he okay?” 

“I asked him,” said Crowley. “I keep on asking him. And he keeps insisting he’s fine, and that he can handle breaking up with his...guy.” 

“But he hasn’t yet.” 

“Nope,” said Crowley, with a sigh. “I get it, though. It’s like, this asshole doesn’t give him time to have a real conversation, ever. All he cares about is his job.”

“Well, Aziraphale needs to find the time and demand they talk about this shit.” 

Crowley bit his lip and nodded. “I know. He’s...he’s just a bit fragile. He needs to do this in his own time, you know? And I get that. I’m not gonna push him.”

Anathema raised her eyebrows at him. “And how are you holding up?”

“I’m fine. Really,” said Crowley. He took a bite of his burrito to show just how fine he was, chewing with relish. When Anathema continued to stare at him, he took another bite. 

One evening, later that week, Crowley got a text from Aziraphale just as he was getting ready to leave work. It was an invitation to dinner at his bookshop. Crowley couldn’t help the way he grinned at his phone, even if it earned him a ribbing from Anathema. 

He texted back: _Is there even heating in that place?_

_I’ve got a space heater! I’ll pick up some food, leave it all to me._

_Sounds great, heading over now._

It was the first time they’d met up intentionally since their sushi date. Everything since then had kicked off with chance meetings on the train. As Crowley rode the train to Soho and walked to Greek Street, he felt the bounce that Anathema could see in his step. When he was with Aziraphale, he felt happier than he had in years. But how much longer could he live in that bubble and ignore how he felt the rest of the time? Crowley shook away the errant thought as he arrived at the front doors of the shop. He had his phone out, ready to text Aziraphale that he’d arrived, when the man himself swung open the door and greeted him with a grin.

“Good evening, my dear,” he said. “Come in, don’t stand out in the cold.” 

Instantly, Crowley noticed a familiar happy feeling welling up in his chest. For now, he decided, he could live in the bubble. It wouldn’t hurt to spend another evening in limbo, to ignore everything except the way Aziraphale’s smile could light up a room. As he stepped into the shop and shut the door, he felt Aziraphale tugging at his coat. 

“Let me hang this up for you,” he said, one warm hand lingering on Crowley’s shoulder before he whisked away his coat and hung it on a rack next to his own. Crowley stared at the black and cream fabric hanging side by side and thought about Aziraphale hanging his coat in Crowley’s closet.

“Thanks,” he said, turning to grab hold of Aziraphale’s arm and pull him into a soft kiss. “How are you?” 

“In ship shape, I assure you,” said Aziraphale. “A bit tired, but what’s new about that?”

Crowley gave him a gentle smile and reached up to touch his cheek. Aziraphale leaned into his hand, eyes drifting shut for a moment. The happiness in Crowley’s chest morphed into something else, something like pride at being able to offer this solace. When Aziraphale opened his eyes again, he returned the gentle smile and Crowley felt it like a balm for his mind. These little moments were perfect; if he could only focus on these moments when they weren’t together, he would be fine. 

"How's work?" Aziraphale asked.

"Fine," said Crowley. "No big projects at the moment, not like you."

"Things are drawing to a close at long last," said Aziraphale. "But, you know, once one book is done, it's on to another."

“Right,” said Crowley. “No more work talk, eh? What have you cooked up for us?” 

Aziraphale smirked at him. “Well, I haven’t actually cooked anything. But as you well know, I’m very skilled at choosing London restaurants and swiping my credit card. Please tell me you’re a fan of ramen.” 

“Love it,” said Crowley, with a grin. “Perfect for a cold night like this.” 

“Are you cold?” said Aziraphale. “Come upstairs, I’ve got the heater running and it’s much cozier up there.”

“Upstairs, eh?” Crowley let Aziraphale lead him to a narrow, spiral staircase near the back of the shop. “This place is full of surprises.”

“My grandfather lived up here for a short time, so it has some basic fixtures in place,” said Aziraphale. “That was before he got married and started a family, though, so everything up here is quite old. I wouldn’t try cooking a meal up here, but the space is serviceable enough.” 

The flat upstairs was small and quite bare. There was a space that might have been used as a bedroom once, but now it housed only a worn sofa covered in tasseled and tartan throw blankets. There was also a kitchenette with a small dining table, where Aziraphale had set up their ramen takeaway. True to his word, he’d also placed a space heater in the corner, pointed right at the table. 

“Here we are,” said Aziraphale as he pulled out one of the dining chairs. “Sit on the side with the heater, my dear.” 

“This is nice,” said Crowley, as he took his seat. He leaned in to smell the ramen, with all its savory goodness. “But you could’ve come to mine again if you wanted.”

“Well, I felt bad that we’d been spending so much time at your place,” said Aziraphale. He settled into the seat across from Crowley. “But I can’t exactly respond in kind. Then I remembered the shop, and I thought it would be perfect.” 

Crowley forced himself not to ask about the boyfriend or give voice to his fantasies about living together one day. He didn’t want to think about that, not tonight. So he tried the soup instead, letting it warm him from the inside. “This is heavenly. Thanks for picking it up.”

“Of course, it was no trouble,” said Aziraphale. “I missed you, thank you for coming.” 

Crowley reached across the table to place his hand on Aziraphale’s. “I missed you too, angel.” 

Aziraphale blushed at the endearment that had become customary since that special night. He turned his hand over and slid his fingers between Crowley’s, squeezing gently before letting go. They fell into a companionable silence as they enjoyed the ramen, and Crowley found he couldn’t stop glancing up across the table. He loved every secret little expression that passed across Aziraphale’s face as he ate. His eyebrows quirked and he smiled to himself, and the reaction was the same no matter the dish. He was an equal opportunity admirer of food, and Crowley found it adorable.

After Aziraphale had sipped the last dregs of his ramen broth and wiped his mouth rather primly with his napkin, Crowley felt an Oxford-clad foot sliding along his calf. He glanced up from his takeaway bowl to find a lascivious smile on Aziraphale’s face. 

“Excuse me. I’m savoring this delicious ramen,” he said, smirking at him. 

“Oh, please take your time,” said Aziraphale, straightening his glasses. “I’m simply making my intentions known.” 

“Oh, yeah? And where do you _intend_ for these intentions to take place?”

“On the sofa, of course,” said Aziraphale, blinking at him. “In the other room, just over there.”

Crowley snorted. “Yeah, I saw the sofa when I came in. All due respect, angel, if I lie down on that thing, I might not get up again.” 

“I promise, it’s quite comfortable,” said Aziraphale. “I spent the night here once, several years ago, and I woke up feeling remarkably rested.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” said Crowley. As he finished his ramen, he pushed away several persistent thoughts -- _Did he bring someone else here? Had he cheated on this boyfriend before? What if this is just something he does over and over?_

Angry with his own brain, Crowley stood up and rounded the table. He nudged Aziraphale’s chair out with his foot and stepped in to sit on his lap, legs either side of Aziraphale’s plump thighs. Crowley cupped his face and pulled him for a kiss, licking past his lips and devouring him straight away. Aziraphale whimpered as Crowley undulated his hips, teasing him. 

“Or...or perhaps we could just stay here and keep doing this,” said Aziraphale, breathing heavily when they broke apart.

“Nah, come on. Let’s go test out this sofa.” 

It was rough and tumble from there, stumbling into the next room, pawing at each other’s clothes and hurriedly toeing out of shoes. As soon as he had Aziraphale bare-chested, Crowley wrapped around him like a clingy snake, lips on his neck and hands roaming everywhere. 

“And I thought I was the eager one tonight,” Aziraphale quipped. He grabbed a handful of Crowley’s hair and pulled him into a kiss, quick to catch up with the breakneck pace and leave him breathless.

“Is this thing clean?” Crowley joked as Aziraphale lowered him onto the sofa. “Am I going to get dust in unsavory places?”

“Shush,” said Aziraphale, with a quick kiss. “I shook the blankets down before you got here, it’s perfectly fine.”

Crowley happily let himself be manhandled, pressed down into a tartan throw blanket and thoroughly kissed. Not only had Aziraphale stopped crying after their first few times together, he’d taken charge and surprised Crowley with hidden strength. It was a pleasant surprise, as Crowley had always been rather fond of being overpowered in bed. Now, with Aziraphale’s strong hands on his shoulders, he felt his arousal spike. 

“You want me to take you apart?” said Aziraphale, nipping at Crowley’s earlobe. “Would that be all right?” 

“Yes,” Crowley breathed, feeling a bit dazed. “Please, yes.” 

Aziraphale climbed off him to retrieve the necessary supplies, and Crowley clung to him when he returned. It was addictive, the feel of Aziraphale’s soft skin and sturdy body under his hands. Crowley held him by the hips, watching as he rolled on the condom. Then Aziraphale took hold of his ankles, gently pushing his legs back.

“Tell me if it starts to hurt your hips,” he said, running his hands down Crowley’s thighs. “Oh, and I’ve got something as well…”

Aziraphale produced a small pillow from somewhere behind him and nudged it into place. Crowley nodded his thanks, still a bit overwhelmed by how considerate Aziraphale was in bed. The first time they’d switched positions, Crowley’s hips started to ache about halfway through, and he wasn’t sure how to tell Aziraphale. In the end, he didn’t have to say a word. Aziraphale seemed to sense it, perhaps he saw it on his face, and he stopped to ask what would help him. That night it had nearly been Crowley who’d cried, but he managed to keep it together somehow. 

Crowley let his head loll back as Aziraphale prepared him, pressing in one blunt finger, and then two. He curled them, searching until Crowley cried out and saw stars. He reached out and grabbed Aziraphale’s arms, fingers digging into flesh. “Go on. Please, fuck me.” 

Aziraphale removed his fingers and pressed in close. He lingered for a moment, just gazing down at Crowley. Then he guided himself forward and pushed in where his fingers had been moments before. Crowley’s eyes drifted shut as he felt Aziraphale thrusting in further and further until he was fully seated. Crowley relished the feeling of being filled up like this, with the sound of Aziraphale’s heavy breathing surrounding him as he started moving his hips. 

“Crowley,” he moaned. “You feel...oh, my dear. You’re doing so well.” 

“ _Angel_ ,” he gasped as Aziraphale struck that particular spot again. His back arched involuntarily, his body rising up to meet Aziraphale’s. He locked his ankles against Aziraphale’s lower back, urging him on. 

“Is this good?” Aziraphale asked, somehow sounding composed though he looked lost in ecstasy. “Is this good for you?” 

“Yes, yes,” Crowley moaned. “Again…keep...don’t stop…”

If Crowley was the one doing the fucking, he could keep up a reasonable conversation. But if he was being pressed down, filled up, and fucked straight into any sort of surface, he found complete sentences were out of his reach. He went boneless, letting the force of Aziraphale’s thrusts move him against the couch. He hoped there’d be a mark on his back the next morning, some evidence of this moment that he could linger on later. When Aziraphale leaned down to kiss him, his hips maintaining their rhythm, he was caught off guard, moaning helplessly against his lips. 

Three small words circled around his brain. They were hardly a complete sentence, easy enough to push past his lips, but he’d been holding them back. As small as they were, those words were weighty, and he wasn’t sure it was time for them just yet. But it was so tempting to blurt them out as Aziraphale rolled his hips and reached between them to grasp Crowley’s cock. 

“You first,” said Aziraphale. “Come for me, dear.”

As though all he needed was to be asked, Crowley went sailing over the edge, hips jerking up into Aziraphale’s fist. He clenched around Aziraphale and felt him shudder as he followed, wanton moans coming from deep in his chest. 

Afterward, Aziraphale pulled back and slipped the pillow out from under Crowley’s hips. He guided him gently onto his side and stroked his face. 

As he returned to himself, slowly coming back down to earth, Crowley realized this meant their evening was nearly over. “I wish we could stay right here.” 

“I know,” said Aziraphale, sadly. “I know, my dear.” 

It was all terribly romantic, if you thought about it in a certain light. It was tragic and cinematic to cling to each other and promise all sorts of things, but when those promises didn’t come through, what happened then? Crowley pulled Aziraphale close and buried his face in his neck, blocking out the rest of the world. 

It was only a few stops back to his place, not enough time for adequate contemplation. So when he got off the train, Crowley passed his street and kept on walking. The buoyancy was fading, the happy bubble in his chest was being replaced by a nagging fear. This all felt chillingly familiar -- it felt like Hal, his uni boyfriend.

Of course, some very key aspects were different. Crowley knew himself better this time around, and the man he was fucking knew he was gay. Aziraphale hadn’t hidden his relationship from Crowley, but Crowley still felt like he was playing second fiddle to someone. Now that they’d gone their separate ways for the night, Crowley was consumed by thoughts of Aziraphale returning to his flat and to his boyfriend. Was he kissing him the way he kissed Crowley?

Yes, he enjoyed spending time with and making love to Aziraphale. Yes, he could see himself saying those three little words, even this early on. But at that very moment he worried that they’d never get there.

* * * * * *

As Aziraphale walked home, he looked up at each streetlight he passed. He remembered the night when Crowley had first called him ‘angel,’ as they stood under one of these lights. He didn’t think he’d ever had a pet name before, certainly nothing so adoring and lovely. He thought about Crowley’s face when he came, the way his eyes drifted shut and then snapped open to hold Aziraphale’s gaze as he rode out his orgasm. The man was attentive in a way Aziraphale had never experienced; it was everything he wanted.

Aziraphale pulled his coat more tightly around himself and searched in his pocket for the key to the flat. He was tired, the kind of tired that came from burning one’s candle at both ends. And in this case Aziraphale was also burning his candle in the middle. He needed to let something go, and yet doing so seemed utterly impossible. He couldn’t leave his job, of course, and he didn’t want to leave Crowley. The one part of his life he wanted to jettison was being very uncooperative.

“Hello?” he called out as he stepped into the flat. “Gabriel? Working late again?” 

To Aziraphale’s surprise, Gabriel emerged from the bedroom, hair rumpled and shoulders slumped. He was still dressed in his work clothes, his tie loosened a bit. “You’re home, finally. I’ve been waiting for you, Az.” 

“Oh, er, I’m sorry,” said Aziraphale. “It’s just...you’ve been out late so often, I figured you wouldn’t mind if I had dinner with Tracy.”

Gabriel let out an enormous sigh and leaned against the wall. “Court was abysmal today. Things aren’t looking too good for our defendant.” 

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Aziraphale hung up his coat and made to step past Gabriel into the bedroom, but he caught sight of the pathetic, hang-dog expression on his face and paused. 

“I know I’ve been busy these past few weeks,” said Gabriel. “That’s not fair to you, especially what happened on your birthday. I really am sorry, but I’m in a position to make partner, finally. Just a little more hustle and I’ll be there.” 

Aziraphale nodded curtly. Then, softening a bit, he reached out to rub his back. “I understand.”

They stood there for a moment, and then Gabriel turned and pulled Aziraphale into a hug. He dropped his head onto Aziraphale’s shoulder and just held him, hot breath against his neck. It was a gentle intimacy that Aziraphale hadn’t felt from his partner in years, and it immediately set off alarm bells. Did Gabriel know? How could he possibly know? He tensed himself for the next blow, for the whispered accusation or speculation about Aziraphale’s dinner date, but it never came. Eventually, Aziraphale sighed and pressed a kiss to Gabriel’s temple.

“Let’s go to bed, my dear.”

* * * * * *

Crowley stared at an email from one of his clients and, for the third time that hour, tried to come up with an adequate response. When words continued to fail him, he leaned back in his desk chair and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. All that accomplished was a psychedelic spread of colors across his eyelids. With a heavy sigh, he sat back up and stared at the computer screen again. His mind was still blank, and when his phone buzzed he leapt at the opportunity for a distraction.

It was a text from Aziraphale: _Afternoon coffee? I’d love to see you during the day for once, my dear._

The first response that occurred to him was, _if you’d break up with the asshole, we could see each other whenever we liked._ Crowley set down his phone and rubbed at his eyes again, forcing himself to take a moment. Clearly he was just annoyed with his client. Once his irritation ebbed away, he picked up his phone and tapped out a message.

_Sure, name the place._

The coffee shop was roughly halfway between their offices, just a few blocks’ walk. In those few blocks, Crowley felt the bounce in his step return. It was ridiculous, the way Aziraphale affected him. As he stepped into the shop and caught sight of the back of Aziraphale’s head, the blue and tartan scarf around his neck, his heart leapt. He tried not to walk too quickly toward him or seem too eager, but he probably failed.

“Hi,” he said, touching Aziraphale’s left shoulder and rounding the table. “It must be said, you do look great in daylight.”

Aziraphale blushed and smiled at him. “You do too, my dear. It’s lovely to see you.” 

“Have you ordered? Can I get you something?” 

“A cocoa is on its way,” said Aziraphale. “I only just arrived.”

“Great, I’ll, er, get something.” Crowley sauntered up to the counter and ordered a black coffee in the largest size the shop offered. He figured he would need it to get through the rest of his work day.

“Why’d you want to meet me here?” he asked Aziraphale as he sat down across from him.

“No real reason,” said Aziraphale. “It’s been an awfully busy day at the office, and I just wanted to see you.”

Crowley felt familiar warring feelings clash behind his breastbone. It was touching that Aziraphale just randomly wanted to see him during the day, but that made it all the more frustrating that he hadn’t taken steps to break up with his asshole. Not knowing what to say, Crowley settled for a smile that he hoped would convey how flattered he was.

“Tell me about work,” he said, after their cocoa and coffee had arrived. 

“Well, I’m making my way through page proofs,” said Aziraphale. “They’ve been all right so far, luckily. But it does strain my eyes a bit, and I was in need of a break. Honestly, my dear, the phrase ‘a sight for sore eyes’ has never been quite so apt.” 

“Ah, so there was an ulterior motive.” Crowley chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. “Well, I’ve spent what feels like four hundred years trying to reply to one client. So maybe we’re having parallel work days.”

“Indeed,” said Aziraphale. “Perhaps we could have parallel evenings as well.”

Crowley smirked. “What? Like, I go home and you go to your bookshop, and then we just masturbate in our respective locales?”

Aziraphale smirked right back and leaned in over the table. “No, a bit closer than that. I meant parallel more like two parallel lines, horizontal, very close together.” 

Crowley’s breath caught in his chest, and for one absolutely mad moment he considered asking Aziraphale to accompany him into the coffee shop’s loo. But that was absurd, wasn’t it? Yeah, it really was. Or was it? 

“Well, what are the odds?” 

Crowley didn’t register the booming voice at first, and he certainly didn’t think it was directed toward their table. But then he glanced up and saw a tall, handsome man with perfect hair striding toward them. He was absurd, he could be on the cover of Handsome but Generic Magazine. He was dressed in a sharp grey suit and a grey overcoat, with a lavender scarf tied at his neck. His smile was blinding, but not in a good way, not like Aziraphale’s.

For one brief moment, absolute shock and horror flashed across Aziraphale’s face. Then he rapidly composed himself and turned to look at the loud man. “Gabriel, what on earth are you doing here?” 

“Getting coffee, obvs,” said Gabriel. He actually _said_ the abbreviation, just like that. And if that wasn’t awful enough, he leaned down and gave Aziraphale a peck on the lips. Then he turned and looked straight at Crowley. “Who’s your friend?” 

Crowley’s blood ran cold as he realized who the man was. This was the asshole, this was the guy who got to live with Aziraphale and yet was so neglectful of him. This tall block of granite had had other things to do on Aziraphale’s birthday. His name was _Gabriel_ , and he was American, and Crowely wanted to run out of the shop and never stop running. What he actually did was sit up straighter than he had in his life and try to menace Gabriel with only his eyes.

“This is Anthony Crowley. I met him through work. He, er, did some marketing for one of our books in the last collection.” 

He bristled at the first name and stuck out his hand. “Just Crowley.” 

“Right, okay.” Gabriel shook his hand for about a millisecond. “What do you do, Anthony?”

“Like he said, marketing,” said Crowley, fighting to keep his voice even. 

“Fascinating,” said Gabriel. He pivoted away from Crowley, clearly uninterested in anything more he might have to say. “We’re in recess, so I only have a few minutes to grab something. Crazy that I would see you here! Is that cocoa I smell?” 

Aziraphale sighed and twisted his mug this way and that on the table. “Yes, I’m afraid so.” 

Gabriel tutted, actually _tutted_ , and Crowley clenched his own fist to stop from punching the man. “There have got to be some healthier choices here. I think I’ll go for a decaf, at least. You gonna be able to sleep tonight, pal, after that much coffee?”

“I’ll do just fine, _pal_ ,” said Crowley. He wished that he had his sunglasses on, so as to throw him off his game. The best he could do was a practiced sardonic smirk. 

“Suit yourself,” said Gabriel, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “I’ll swing by on my way out.”

With that he was gone, off to order his healthy decaf coffee. Crowley took a deep breath and looked at Aziraphale, who wore a deadened expression on his face. Crowley had never seen him like this. The Aziraphale he knew was bubbly and bright, always smiling and making quips. But now, with Gabriel in the same building, he seemed devoid of emotion. He didn’t even meet Crowley’s gaze, he simply watched Gabriel up at the counter. 

“Back to court,” said Gabriel, when he returned to their table. “Important case, you know. Can’t really talk about it, of course, but things have turned around for us. I’ll see you later? Back at home.”

“Mm,” said Aziraphale, lips quirking in the imitation of a smile. “Yes, I’ll see you there.” 

In lieu of another kiss, Gabriel squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder and then caressed his chin ever so slightly with the back of his hand. He didn’t so much as glance at Crowley before leaving the shop and striding away down the street. After he was gone, Aziraphale seemed to sag with relief. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times and then shook his head. 

“I’m so sorry about that,” he said, still not back to his bubbly self. “I never would have imagined...I never intended for that to happen.” 

“Well, no, of course not,” said Crowley. “And London’s a big city. Of all the coffee shops…”

“Quite,” said Aziraphale. He took a sip of his cocoa, staring into the middle distance. 

“You, er…you lied really well there,” said Crowley. “Good cover story.” 

Aziraphale set down his cup. “It was all I could think of, I’m afraid.” 

The words left Crowley’s mouth before he had time to think about them properly. “You could’ve told the truth. Might sound crazy, but we could’ve had it out right here.”

“Are you mad?” Aziraphale stared at him, eyes wide. “Do you think I want it to happen like that? In a coffee shop, of all places?”

Crowley sighed and leaned his elbows on the table. “Don’t take this the wrong way, angel. But how _do_ you want it to happen? Do you want it to happen at all?”

Rather than deflate further, Aziraphale puffed himself up a bit. “How can you say that to me? You know perfectly well I do.”

“Then why haven’t you done anything?” said Crowley, taking care to keep his tone gentle. He didn’t want Aziraphale to bolt, he didn’t want to scare him away. “That man is _horrible._ And I’ve only known him, properly known him, for about fifteen minutes. How long have you been together?”

“Six years,” said Aziraphale, so softly that Crowley almost didn’t hear him.

“ _Six years?_ Bloody hell, tell him tonight. Please, just do it and get it over with. Get out.”

Aziraphale fidgeted in his seat, fingers twisted together. “Well, I-I-I’ll have to see what he’s like when he comes home. If he comes home at all, he’s been very busy.”

“Busy with work, I know,” said Crowley. “And I want to give you the time and space you need to take care of this. But, honestly? I’m beginning to worry that I’m just, I dunno, enabling you? I feel like I’m helping you put things off.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, hands still fidgeting, eyes looking a bit watery. “Oh, I’m afraid the blame lies solely with me, my dear. I...I should get back to work.”

Before Crowley could say another word, Aziraphale stood up and buttoned his coat closed. “I’m so sorry for the debacle. I had hoped this would be a pleasant afternoon.” 

With that, he was gone, leaving Crowley to stare at his empty chair in befuddlement. He held out his hands, as if to ask the world what on earth had just happened. Part of him wanted to run after Aziraphale and another part wanted to seek out Gabriel and punch his smug face. Instead he paid for their drinks and went back to the office, glad to find Anathema at her desk.

“D’you have a minute?” he said.

“Yeah, I was just…” Anathema trailed off as she looked up at him. “Shit. What happened?”

Crowley dumped his coat and scarf on his desk chair and leaned over the cubicle partition. “I went for coffee with Aziraphale, and his boyfriend showed up.” 

Anathema’s eyes grew very wide. “Okay. Well. That sounds pretty fucking bad.”

“He’s a dick,” said Crowley. “I already knew he was, but seeing him confirmed it. Perfect hair, square jaw. He could be in a movie about astronauts. And he told Aziraphale off for having cocoa. And he didn’t give a fuck about me. I might as well have been an empty chair.”

“Whoa, slow down,” said Anathema. “What did Aziraphale do?” 

“Told him I was someone he’d met through work. Lied through his teeth, easy as you please.”

“Well, what would you expect? Of course he lied,” said Anathema.

Crowley pressed his knuckles into his forehead. He could feel a headache barreling toward him. “I dunno, I kind of wanted it all to come out. Right then and there, just get it over with.”

“Bad idea,” said Anathema, shaking her head. “Very, very bad idea.”

Crowley sighed and put his hands on his hips, shifting this way and that to banish the ache that was blooming there. “Yeah. I think...I think I’m starting to lose it a bit.” 

“I did tell you,” said Anathema. “I know saying that makes me a jerk, but I did tell you.”

Crowley couldn’t hate her for pointing this out. If Aziraphale held all the blame for keeping them in a holding pattern, then Crowley was to blame for digging himself in deeper and deeper. He’d kept inviting Aziraphale to his place, he’d kept fucking him, he’d kept fantasizing about their bloody coats hanging together in a closet. 

The rest of the work day went by in a blur as Crowley’s headache grew worse. He did manage to tap out some response to the troublesome client, but he couldn’t be sure whether it was rude. It was probably quite rude, and he didn’t much care. Aziraphale wasn’t on the train that evening, and Crowley was a bit relieved. He’d had enough frank and honest exchanges in public for one day.

Later, when he was sprawled on his sofa watching Jamie Oliver cook something or other, he saw his phone light up on the coffee table. He tried to ignore it, tried to focus on whatever Jamie was saying, but eventually he couldn’t resist grabbing the damned thing. Of course, it was a message from Aziraphale.

_I know I’m moving slowly, and I’m very sorry for that. But I need to do this in my own time. I know he’s not good for me, but it’s difficult to undo six years of one’s life. Please forgive me._

Crowley laid back on the couch, fully horizontal, and let the phone drop to his chest. He’d never got this far with Hal, he’d never had a conversation about Hal breaking things off with his girlfriend. He’d simply looked Crowley straight in the eye and told him it had all just been for fun. Aziraphale seemed to be more mature about all this, at the very least. And Crowley supposed that, yes, it was hard to undo something that had been the foundation of your life for so long. But couldn’t Aziraphale see that the longer he put it off, the messier it was going to be?

Eventually the image of Aziraphale sitting in his flat, wringing his hands as he had in the coffee shop, got to him and he typed out a response.

_There’s nothing to forgive, Angel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you for your continued support and all the amazing comments. Each and every one of you puts a smile on my face, and I'm so grateful to you all for reading. I'm so sorry about this, haha, but I promise you the "happy ending" tag still stands. <3
> 
> I'm @truncated-symphony on tumblr, come find me if you'd like.


	8. it's sweet until it's over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think the title says it all, really. This is the bandstand moment, folks. Apologies in advance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: internalized homophobia, mentions of past homophobia from a parent

When one falls asleep on the train and ends up at Bethnal Green, thoroughly confused, one’s life requires some sort of change. At least, that was the conclusion Aziraphale came to one Friday night as he waited on the platform for a train back toward Soho. He’d spent the previous three hours with Crowley, eating a pizza and watching a terrible program that involved despicable people searching for mansions. They’d both been too full of pizza to make their way into the bedroom, so they’d ended up simply cuddling on Crowley’s sofa. Aziraphale could have easily fallen asleep there, with his head on Crowley’s chest and the sound of his heartbeat against his ear. 

“I’m sorry, again, about the coffee shop,” he said, when he’d shown up at Crowley’s flat, having texted earlier in the day to ask if he could. 

Crowley had heaved a weary sigh and shook his head. “S’fine, really. I don’t want to push you.”

“No, I know,” Aziraphale had said. “You weren’t.” 

An uncomfortable beat of silence had passed between them, and Aziraphale wondered if he’d ruined things. 

“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Crowley had said, opening his door a bit wider. Then he’d beckoned Aziraphale into a hug and suggested pizza. 

He’d peeled himself up from the sofa far too late and had been a bit panicked about getting home at a reasonable time. Crowley kissed him, trying to soothe him, and Aziraphale had nearly texted Gabriel some flimsy excuse so he could crawl into Crowley’s plush bed with him. But he’d somehow made his way out into the cold night, to the tube station, and onto the train, where he’d promptly fallen asleep. 

The fatigue, he reasoned, went deeper than work exhaustion. In fact, work had begun to let up in recent weeks. This was, he knew, the fatigue of someone living with a secret. He’d had an uncle who carried on an affair for nearly ten years until he dropped dead one day without warning. Once he was gone, everything had come out and his wife was left to reckon with who her husband had truly been. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what had become of the other woman. As he made his way home, he was consumed with preemptive guilt over leaving Gabriel confused and angry, and of leaving Crowley utterly bereft.

Yes, he thought, something had to be done. He rehearsed what he might say to Gabriel as he left the station. He would need to start with how he’d been feeling for nearly two years, how he’d noticed that they never made love anymore. He would build up a list of evidence and justification, and then he would tell Gabriel about Crowley. 

With a full head of steam built up, ready for a confrontation, Aziraphale opened the door to his flat and found that Gabriel was not at home.

Normally, Aziraphale would not call himself an angry man. But his blood boiled as he hung up his coat with more force than was strictly necessary. He made a quick inspection of every room to be sure that Gabriel was not home. Then he kicked his shoes off and unleashed a tirade on the empty flat. 

“Oh, fuck it,” he said. “Fuck you, Gabriel, and your bloody court case. I’m so _fucking_ tired, all the time, and I can’t _do_ this anymore. You...you can have the flat. I don’t even like it anymore, it means nothing to me. I just...I need to…” 

All at once, Aziraphale’s anger petered out and was replaced by a bone-deep sorrow that gripped him so suddenly he had to sit down. He fell into a chair at the dining table and held his head in his hands, crying in a way that he hadn’t in years. Everything he’d been holding onto came rushing out of him in desperate sobs that made him shake. As he tried to catch his breath, vision blurred by tears, Aziraphale fumbled in his pockets for his phone. He wanted to call Crowley, he wanted Crowley to make him feel better.

Before he could even scroll through his saved numbers, Aziraphale dropped his phone on the table. Calling Crowley now, when all he wanted was comfort, simply wasn’t fair. None of this was fair to Crowley, Aziraphale thought, as he suddenly saw the past month in a whole new light. How must Crowley feel, spending his nights alone when he knew that Aziraphale was going home to someone else? How must he feel each time he asked about Gabriel, only to hear that Aziraphale had been unsuccessful in confronting him?

The whole situation made him feel ill, and his head throbbed now in the wake of his crying jag. What a red-letter day, he thought, as he got up from the table and shuffled into the bedroom. He had no energy for a shower, he didn’t even care enough to change into his pyjamas. All he could manage to do was remove his waistcoat and slide beneath the duvet.

Saturday morning dawned bright and cheery, and Aziraphale woke up with a headache. As he blinked the remains of sleep from his eyes and groped for his spectacles, Aziraphale realized that Gabriel was sitting at the end of the bed. He looked fresh, dressed already in a fleece pullover and khakis, and Aziraphale wondered just how long he’d been asleep. 

“Morning,” said Gabriel, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Um, are you okay?”

“What time is it?” said Aziraphale, finally finding his spectacles and casting about for something that might answer his question. 

“About ten to eleven,” said Gabriel. “You must’ve been exhausted, you slept in your clothes.” 

Aziraphale sighed and flopped back against the pillows. “I was. I am. You know, everything is...work has been very busy.” 

“I knew something was wrong as soon as I got in last night,” said Gabriel. “Your shoes were in a heap by the door, your phone was on the table...I was honestly worried. You always keep everything in its place.” 

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale. He let his eyes drift shut again, thinking how nice it would be to fall back asleep and let the day pass him by. But then he remembered his anger from the night before, and how he needed to do something or he’d only keep feeling this way.

“I’m gonna make you some tea, I’ll be right back,” said Gabriel. 

“No, wait,” said Aziraphale, forcing himself to sit up again. He grabbed Gabriel’s arm and pulled him back to the bed. Being made to suffer his way through a cup of badly brewed tea was a bridge too far. “Actually, erm, I’ve been meaning to speak with you about something.” 

Gabriel sighed and sat back down. “I think I know what this is about.” 

“You do?” Aziraphale fought to keep his tone calm. Had Gabriel seen something on his phone? Did he suspect something after seeing Crowley at the coffee shop? It would be so typical of him to take control of this narrative, to not even let Aziraphale break up with him properly. 

“I know I’ve been pretty absent this year,” said Gabriel. “Probably longer than that, actually. I just...I know it’s not a good excuse, but you know how demanding my job can be.”

“Yes, I know. And I know how much you enjoy it.” 

“I’m good at it, too,” said Gabriel, with a wink. Aziraphale wanted to roll his eyes at the boast, but he knew it was true. And, if he was being honest, that wink still made his heart do a little backflip. “But it means I’m not around as much as I should be.” 

“Yes, it’s...well, yes. I can’t remember the last time we had dinner together during the week,” said Aziraphale. “And I know the case you’re working on is important, but it’s been ages since I’ve seen you, since we’ve actually, properly talked.”

Gabriel nodded and reached out to take his hand. “I want to try and be better. I definitely don’t say this enough, but you’re kind of my rock.” 

“W-what?” Aziraphale blinked at him. This was definitely not what he’d expected out of this conversation. 

“Knowing that you’ll be here when I get home is what keeps me going on so many late nights. You’ve been so patient with me, Az, and I’m sorry if I haven’t been that great.” 

“I...I...th-thank you for saying all this,” said Aziraphale. His heart was beating so fast, and all the words he’d thought up the night before were getting lost in his brain. “I have been feeling a bit, that is, as I say, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good, solid conversation. Which is why I wanted to talk to you now.” 

“I feel the same way,” said Gabriel. His deep blue eyes were fixed on Aziraphale, and he felt equal parts trapped and charmed. “So let’s talk, love. Specifically, I want to talk about maybe making this official, once and for all.” 

Aziraphale gasped and gulped at the same time and narrowly avoided choking on his own saliva. “I...what? What do you mean? D-do you...do you mean what I think you mean?”

Gabriel smiled and shrugged at him. “Why not? I don’t know why we haven’t done it yet, to be honest. I was thinking about how wonderful you are, and I realized I should probably lock that down, ha!”

Aziraphale chuckled nervously. “Yes, quite. I...gosh, this is all rather…” 

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” said Gabriel, shifting closer to him, crowding him up against the headboard. “I’d make partner, we could get a bigger place....I could bring you to work parties as my _husband._ ”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, overwhelmed by the smell of Gabriel’s cologne and the way he was nosing at Aziraphale’s neck. “Oh, my.” 

“What do you think?” said Gabriel. 

“I think...I think I need to think about this,” said Aziraphale, gently pushing him away.

Gabriel shook his head, a fond smile on his face. “Of course. Of course you do! God, that’s so Aziraphale. No, but, you’re right. Think about it. I’m gonna go make that tea.” 

This time Aziraphale let him go. What was a bad cup of tea compared to the bombshell that had just landed on his head? He slumped back against the pillows and tried to determine where exactly he’d lost the thread of this. It had all been so clear in his mind, the choice was simple. But now Gabriel had apologized, and he was promising to be better. He was promising to bloody _marry_ him. After six years, a proposal seemed a bit overdue, but it was still awfully nice to hear. A wedding could be quite lovely, he thought. 

Oh, but Crowley. What should he do about Crowley? Sweet, kind Crowley did not deserve the half-relationship Aziraphale had been giving him. For too long he’d managed to avoid that reality, to focus only on their time together and how wonderful it felt. 

Crowley was wonderful, and Aziraphale truly enjoyed their time together. He felt happier with him than he had in quite a while. But now it seemed as though things with Gabriel could change. If he had hope for the relationship he'd been building for six years, wasn't it wrong to fraternize with someone else? If he had a marriage proposal from someone who'd spent six years with him, wasn't it right to accept? 

The fact was, he'd made a commitment to Gabriel quite some time ago, and the realization that he’d been breaking that commitment made him sick. All at once, he remembered something his mother had told him when he’d first come out to her. She’d said that all gay people were promiscuous, hopping from one lover to the next, and that she didn’t want that life for him. He knew that wasn’t true, and he’d thought he could prove her wrong, but she’d died before he’d met Gabriel. What would she say now, if she knew he’d been cheating? He felt ashamed for reinforcing a stereotype she’d once believed in. 

Aziraphale’s head was pounding, and he could hear Gabriel moving about in the kitchen. Things had gone so very wrong, and he needed to make them right. Everything that had seemed clear the night before felt wrong. This was his flat, this was his relationship, this was where he belonged. Even as he convinced himself of these things, Aziraphale remembered the hours he’d spent on Crowley’s sofa, held safely in his arms. 

“Here we go,” said Gabriel, as he came in with a cup of tea. As he set it down on the bedside table, Aziraphale could actually _smell_ how wrongly it had been brewed. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Aziraphale steeled himself, knowing that this was the right thing to do. “I think we need to talk about the particulars, but...yes, I think it would be wonderful to make things official.” 

Gabriel grinned at him, eyes twinkling. "I'm so glad you agree. Time to make an honest man out of you, eh?” 

Aziraphale chuckled as Gabriel leaned in to kiss him. “Yes. Rather.” 

Gabriel laid down beside him and they stayed in bed for a bit longer, mostly discussing wishes they’d held for imaginary, far-off weddings. Aziraphale was enchanted by the idea of a country wedding with top hats and tails, but his mind kept straying to Crowley. With each passing moment, he felt guiltier about leading Crowley on for so long. He wanted to break the news to him sooner rather than later. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable. Besides, if he didn’t tell him soon, he knew he would find justification for continuing their dalliance. No, it was time to make things right. 

“You know,” he said. “I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you? Why don’t I pop to the corner shop and get us some bubbly?”

Gabriel frowned. “Bit early in the day for that, isn’t it?”

“We’ll have it with supper,” said Aziraphale. “I won’t be long.” 

“All right, all right.” 

Aziraphale was up out of the bed before Gabriel had fully agreed. He didn’t pause to change his clothes or even brush his teeth. He only ran his fingers through his hair a few times and hoped that he didn’t look too disheveled. Aziraphale’s hands shook as he plucked his phone from where he’d left it the night before. The person who’d cried at the kitchen table all those hours ago seemed alien to him. It was as though he’d gone to sleep and woken up in another realm. 

It was a lovely day, irony of ironies, and Aziraphale would have been happy to take a walk if it hadn’t meant making a horrible phone call. He walked past the corner shop, wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the flat. After a few blocks he stopped and stared down at his phone. His hands were still shaking as he scrolled to Crowley’s number.

“Angel?” 

Aziraphale’s heart clenched at that. “Crowley? It’s me.” 

“Yeah, I know,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale could hear the fond smile in his voice. “Something wrong? You usually text, what’s up?”

Aziraphale nodded to himself, knowing that it was better not to drag his feet on this. “I...I’m afraid it’s over, Crowley. I can’t...I can’t do this anymore. It’s not right.” 

Silence. Aziraphale concentrated on the simple act of breathing. If he thought too much about what Crowley’s face looked like in that moment, he would crumple into a heap right there on the pavement. He clutched his chest, waiting for a response. He could feel his eyes welling up. 

“Are you sure about this?” 

“Don’t ask me that,” said Aziraphale. He shut his eyes as tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, but this is the right thing to do.” 

“What did he say to you? What did he promise?” 

“Crowley, I can’t...I can’t talk about this with you. All right? I’m so, _so_ sorry for...for everything. I shouldn’t have…” 

“I’m sorry, too. Good luck, Aziraphale.” 

The line went dead, and Aziraphale let out the sob he’d been holding back.

* * * * * *

“Good luck, Aziraphale.”

As soon as the words left him, Crowley tapped the “hang up” button on his phone. He didn’t want to hear what Aziraphale’s response might be. He didn’t want to hear him cry, and he didn’t want to hear him make excuses. This was fine, he thought. He really should have seen this coming. He turned onto his side, dropped his phone to the floor, and tried to concentrate on the “Golden Girls” episode he’d been watching. In what felt like the blink of an eye, the end credits were flashing on the screen. Crowley sat up, startled and wondering what his mind had been doing for the past twenty-two minutes. 

With no real idea of what he might do when he got there, Crowley wandered into his kitchen. He looked in the fridge, he stared at his coffee machine, he ran his fingers along his cookbooks. He felt heavy inside, he felt like something might be wrong with him. Maybe he needed to go to A&E, get things checked out. After a moment he decided that would be foolish and instead stuck his plant mister under the tap to fill it.

The plants had obviously taken to Aziraphale. They’d been growing greener and heartier ever since he’d first come to the flat, even the Chinese evergreen. Crowley thought back to the way Aziraphale had gently caressed the African violet, how he’d spoken softly to it. 

“Right,” he said, fingers ghosting along the monstera’s leaves. “Well. Hope you got your fill because he won’t be coming back. Stuck with me now. Just me, s’all there is.” 

Crowley turned away from his plants to stare at the sofa. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, Aziraphale had sat with him there. Crowley had stroked his pale curls and slid one finger down the delicate shell of his ear. During the ad break, Aziraphale had pulled him into a lazy kiss, mouth sliding against his, soft moans at the back of his throat. The memory of it crushed his chest now; he let the plant mister fall and dropped down onto the sofa, hands pressed to his eyes.

He’d expected this, hadn’t he? A small part of him had been reminding himself that this was a possibility for weeks. Each time they’d fucked, as he lay trying to enjoy the afterglow, his brain had whispered that Aziraphale wasn’t his yet. There was always that caveat, he’d tried to keep one foot in and one foot out to save himself in case this happened. Why, then, did it hurt so much? Because that’s what was wrong with him, he understood it now -- his chest was caving in and his stomach had crumpled because the end had arrived.

Crowley grabbed his phone from the floor, unlocked it and stared at his contacts list. Aziraphale’s number was right there, with no photo next to it. They’d never got around to taking photos together, never had a chance to properly add each other to their contacts. How could he feel this wrecked and hollowed out by someone he’d only been fucking for a month? 

For most of his adult life -- ever since Hal, really -- Crowley had managed to keep potential partners at arm’s length. He’d dated around, he’d had a great time with some great folks. But none of those relationships had felt like they could become serious, something lifelong. In his late thirties, when he went to therapy for the first time, he realized that was all by design. One fateful encounter in uni had closed him off, and he’d come to terms with the fact that he might never find someone who could make him let down those barriers.

Aziraphale, whether he knew it or not, had busted down those barriers with one look. Crowley felt like a fool, reeled in by a sunshine smile and a bit of good flirting. How had he ever thought Aziraphale would choose him? Maybe he’d been lying about how terrible Gabriel was, maybe he’d simply been looking for a bit of fun on the side. Apparently that was the role that Crowley played best. He hadn’t even minded it, that’s how sick he was. He’d been happy with whatever Aziraphale was willing to give him. He’d been fine with deluding himself as long as he had Aziraphale some of the time. Was he that desperate? Was he that lonely?

When Crowley shook his head and blinked his vision back into focus, he was still staring down at his contacts. He quickly scrolled past Aziraphale’s number and tapped Anathema’s instead. 

“There’s a couple on _Escape to the Country_ being nauseating. Are you doing anything? Do you wanna hate watch over the phone?”

“Usually, yeah, in a heartbeat. But, er, not right now. Erm. Could you come over? I think I need someone else here.” 

Anathema was quiet for a moment. “What’s wrong?” 

Crowley drew in a shuddering breath. Everything was crashing in on him now, he could feel it creeping up his throat. “Aziraphale called. He ended it.”

The response was instant. “I’m on my way. Indian takeaway? Ice cream? Popcorn? Porn? What d’you need?”

Crowley let out a shaky laugh. “You don’t have to bring anything. ‘M not even hungry, really.”

“Okay, I’ll just grab some of my break-up standards,” said Anathema. “I’ll be there in no time, all right? I’ll make the train move faster with my mind.” 

“We’ve discussed this, you definitely can’t do that.” 

“Ahh, you’ll change your tune when I’m there in less than twenty.”

Though Crowley was fairly certain that Anathema did not have any special powers, she did press the buzzer to his flat eighteen minutes after hanging up. He let her up and let her sweep into his flat, with her floor-length skirt and overcoat with the shoulder pads. She had a canvas tote slung over her shoulder and a determined look in her eyes.

“I’m here for whatever you need, okay?” she said. “You wanna trash him? Let’s trash him. You wanna talk about how great he is? Let’s do that. I’ve got dairy-free ice cream, and Monster Munch, and a bottle of scotch. I will happily buy you whatever you want on Deliveroo, just say the word.” 

“Anathema,” said Crowley. “Could I just get a hug?”

She set down her tote bag and held out her arms. “Of course, you big idiot.” 

After Anathema held him for an embarrassingly long but comforting time in his entryway, and Crowley succeeded in holding back tears, they settled on the sofa with the ice cream she’d brought. Crowley wasn’t hungry, but the ice cream helped to soothe his burning, twisted insides. At first he just wanted to watch something mindless with her, so Anathema flipped through the channels until they found _Countryfile._ She didn’t press him, but eventually he felt ready to explain what had happened.

“He didn’t give a real reason?” said Anathema. 

Crowley shook his head. “He just said this was the right thing to do. All I can think is that the wanker promised to make up for how shitty he’s been. Which I’m sure is a bunch of lies, but I guess Aziraphale wants to believe him.”

“You said they were together for six years, right? I mean, that’s a long time. Maybe you don’t know the whole story.”

“You’re right, I know,” said Crowley, with a sigh. “But the way he scolded him for having a bloody cocoa, I mean. And Aziraphale...he seemed so upset whenever he talked about him.” 

Anathema nodded. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t feel like you need to save him.”

“What do you mean? I don’t...that’s not what I’m trying to do.” 

“Enh, it kinda seems like that,” said Anathema. “You keep playing up how awful his relationship must be. You can just want it to have worked out between you. You can just want him to have chosen you.” 

Crowley stared at her as the words sunk into his brain. She was right; anytime he’d discussed this with Aziraphale, he’d urged him to break up with Gabriel for his own good. He’d told him that he deserved better, that he should end it because it seemed to be hurting him. But of course he’d wanted Aziraphale to choose him. He’d spent absurd amounts of time fantasizing about them living together. He realized now that he’d only been concerned with pushing Aziraphale or going too fast, and he'd never made his intentions clear. Maybe he should’ve told Aziraphale how it made him feel to see their coats hanging side by side.

“Okay. Yeah,” said Crowley. He could feel the tears coming now, and there was no fighting them off. “I wanted him to choose me.” 

Anathema nodded and beckoned him toward her. Crowley shuffled across the sofa and fell into her embrace, a sob escaping his throat. She rubbed his back and said, “Cry on me all you like, I made sure not to wear my favorite blouse.” 

“Why the fuck are you so nice to me?” said Crowley, between sobs.

“Beats me,” said Anathema, which made him laugh. “No, but really. You’re my friend, man. You have been since my first day, when you warned me off the piss the office calls coffee.”

“Well it’s true, it might as well be piss,” said Crowley, still crying in earnest.

“I know, babe. I know,” said Anathema, patting his back. 

Eventually Crowley cried himself out. There would be another wave later on, he was sure of it, but for now he pulled back from Anathema and she ordered them an Indian takeaway. Over the garlic naan, Crowley poured his heart out about how far he’d let things get.

“I was, like, _this close_ to telling him I loved him,” said Crowley. “Does that make me fucked up? That’s fucked up, right?” 

“Not necessarily,” said Anathema, with a shrug. “There are people who get married after dating for, like, a month.” 

“Yeah. And I’ve always said those people were insane.”

“Maybe they aren’t _all_ insane. Love at first sight seems absurd to me, but I believe you can meet someone and have a really intense connection right away.” 

Crowley nodded, thinking back to the way he’d felt any time Aziraphale had smiled at him. If someone else had told him they felt that way, he’d have rolled his eyes. But he’d been there, and there was no denying how those smiles had lit up every atom of his being. It was probably for the best that Aziraphale had been the one to end it, because Crowley never would’ve been able to. He might have been trailing after him like a pathetic puppy for ages.

“On the bright side, you didn’t actually say it,” said Anathema, cutting into his thoughts.

“Is that a bright side?” 

“Depends on how you look at it, I guess. In my view, it’s better this way."

“Might’ve made him choose me, though,” Crowley sighed.

“Ah, you can’t think about that. You’ll torture yourself.” 

“Right,” said Crowley, staring past her at the darkening sky outside. Of course now that the thought had occurred to him, it would probably come back as soon as he laid down to sleep. God, how would he possibly sleep? He’d likely be awake for hours, remembering all the times he and Aziraphale had made love in that very bed. 

Sometime around midnight, Crowley jerked awake to find the room dark but for the light of _Hot Property_ flashing from the telly. At the other end of the sofa, Anathema was curled up asleep. As soon as Crowley made to get up and slink off to his bedroom, she woke up.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

“I’m going to bed, that’s all.” 

“Are you sure you’re all right?” said Anathema, instantly more alert. “Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do?”

“No, you’ve done enough, really. You can stay the night. The sofa’s not too bad.”

Anathema nodded. “I’ve slept in worse places. Okay, so, give me your phone.” 

“What? No!” said Crowley, clutching it to his chest. “It helps me fall asleep.”

“You really shouldn’t be doing that, man. The blue light fucks up your brain.”

“Okay, not very interested in being judged right now.”

“Sorry,” said Anathema, shaking her head at herself. “You’re right, sorry. Will you at least delete him from your phone?”

Crowley hesitated, inching toward his bedroom. “Yeah. Sure.” 

“Where are you going? I'm gonna watch you do it, otherwise I know you won’t.”

Crowley groaned and scrolled through his contacts. There was Aziraphale’s number, plain as day, just waiting for him to send off an ill-advised text. He hadn’t been planning to text him, not exactly, but he knew that sometime around three-thirty in the morning, the thought would occur to him. Anathema was right, he needed to delete his number. 

“Fine,” he said. It took him a minute, because he knew this was really it. Maybe he’d see Aziraphale on the train again one day, but once he deleted his number there would be no way of getting in touch with him. It was for the best, it was healthy, and so Crowley deleted the number with Anathema hovering by his shoulder.

“Good man,” she said, clapping him on the back. 

“Right. So. I’m gonna go cry -- I mean, sleep, of course.”

Anathema pulled him into a hug that just made him want to cry even more. But he let himself feel it, knowing that the more he cried now, the better the chance he would be functional at work on Monday. Semi-functional, at the very least. He didn’t get to sleep until four, when his brain simply shut down in self defense.

The next morning, nearly afternoon, Crowley stumbled out into the living room to find Anathema looking fresh-faced and channel surfing. He glared at her, and the sun, and wished that he’d grabbed his sunglasses.

“Why are you so...awake?” 

Anathema grinned at him. “I’m not a senior citizen, I can still stay up late.”

“You’re only, like, ten years younger than me,” scoffed Crowley. “Pancakes?”

Crowley insisted on making the pancakes on his own, shooing Anathema away from his kitchen when she offered to help. He appreciated her being there, and he wasn’t ready to kick her out just yet, but he wanted some time to himself. He wanted to measure ingredients, mix them up, and cook them in a pan to golden brown perfection. He just wanted something to turn out right.

After breakfast, Crowley felt wrung out. There had been entirely too much crying and talking packed into the past twenty-four hours, and he thought it might be nice to take a sleeping pill and wake up to a fresh week. Anathema insisted on cleaning up, so Crowley let her, and then he told her she could go home.

“Are you absolutely sure?” she asked, eyeing him dubiously. “I don’t mind staying, really. I brought a change of clothes in case you wanted me to stay through the weekend.” 

“You...are really too nice to me,” said Crowley. “But I swear, I’ll be fine. I’m just gonna sleep, or at least try to. It’d be nice to not be a zombie tomorrow morning.” 

Anathema studied him for a long moment and then nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave you be. But please, _please_ text me if you need anything. Call me at two in the morning to cry, I won’t mind. We’ll be zombies at work together.” 

Crowley let out a long breath, and then stood up to hug her. It was the biggest, most bone-crushing hug he could manage. “If you ever go through something like this, I’ll be there for you. That’s a promise.”

“I know you will.” When Crowley let her go, Anathema kissed his cheek.

“Hey,” he said, because he couldn’t let her leave on a sentimental note. “Thank you for being a friend.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right.”

“I’m just saying, your heart is true, you know? You’re a pal _and_ a confidant.”

“Okay! Leaving now!” 

In the quiet apartment, Crowley wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He misted his plants and just wandered about. But that led him back to the sofa, where he thought again about that last night, when he’d felt so safe and at ease. So he stripped off all his clothes, turned on his Queen playlist, and stepped into the shower. But even then he couldn’t escape thoughts of Aziraphale. As Freddie Mercury belted out that he couldn’t get used to “living without you by my side,” Crowley felt a lump rise in his throat. Of all the places to cry, the shower was easily in the top ten. 

Sunday turned into Monday, and Crowley knew he had to face the train. He wasn’t surprised to see Aziraphale get on at Tottenham (better to expect it and be prepared), but he didn’t appreciate the butterflies in his stomach at the sight of him. Aziraphale didn’t seem too worse for wear. He simply looked like Aziraphale, complete with blue and tartan scarf, and matching socks that showed when he sat down and his trousers rode up. He was reading Georgette Heyer again, and Crowley had the strange feeling that he’d traveled back in time. 

Then Aziraphale noticed him, and his expression changed entirely. Crowley held his gaze, perhaps because he wanted to soak in the ever-changing color of his eyes one last time. At first Aziraphale attempted to smile at him, as though they were simply fellow commuters on their way to work. But the smile faltered, and Aziraphale looked sadder than Crowley had ever seen him look. All the Monday morning bounce seemed to leave him and he just stared sadly at Crowley. 

Crowley looked away first, deciding to find some news article and pretend that he was strong enough to pay attention to it rather than Aziraphale. But he wasn’t strong, and Anathema had been right to make him delete Aziraphale’s number from his phone. If he’d still had it saved, he would have been texting him then and there, trying to somehow fix everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No lie, this chapter physically hurt me to write. So I’m very sorry if it hurt you to read it. Sometimes, before a happy ending, we must reach the lowest of lows. And here we are, so it’s all uphill from here (nearly), I promise. If you’d like a fic that’s more of a warm hug, I posted one called “a view to the sea” earlier this week. :)
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your support and lovely comments. You brighten my Fridays without fail! See you back here next week. <3


	9. forever haunted by our time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said last night. That a wedding is a big thing.”
> 
> “Ye-es? Are you about to get cold feet?”

Aziraphale was keeping a tally, though some might call it a list of grievances. It was a collection of things that he planned to mention to Gabriel as things he should not do if they were to get married. At one point it was going to be a top ten, but he’d grown beyond that descriptor quite quickly. The list consisted of things he was confident they could nip in the bud before the wedding bells rang. After all, Gabriel had already fulfilled his promise to be around more often, and Aziraphale was sure he’d want to fix these other lingering issues. 

“Beth’s having a baby soon,” Gabriel was saying as he sliced into his boneless, skinless chicken. “Not sure why she’d want a kid when she’s still just an associate.” 

“Well, a lot of factors go into a decision like that,” said Aziraphale, trying to be diplomatic. “I’m sure she’s thought it all through.”

“Yeah, just seems silly,” said Gabriel. “Though I shouldn’t be complaining because it means they might consider me for partner next.”

“Mmm, a silver lining.” 

“We’ll have to be strategic with the timing of our wedding,” said Gabriel, spearing an asparagus spear with his fork. “And we should keep the honeymoon brief, hope you don’t mind.” 

“Of course not,” said Aziraphale, who had been expecting that. “I understand. Besides, I’m sure I’ll need to get back to work as well. We’re not exactly young, blushing brides. Er, grooms.”

“True,” said Gabriel, frowning as he chewed his asparagus. He pointed his fork in Aziraphale’s direction. “That reminds me, you might want to get started on a wedding diet.” 

Another one for the list, thought Aziraphale. This one could go after scolding him for eating scones at breakfast and just before giving him a look when he ordered dessert. Crowley had never done that, but whenever he thought of that, Aziraphale told himself he couldn’t make comparisons forever. He’d made his choice, he was with Gabriel now. So he took a deep breath and sliced into his own chicken. 

“I really don’t think that will be necessary,” he said. “I think you’ll find they make wedding suits in all sizes these days.”

“Well. Sure, of course,” said Gabriel. “But don’t you want to look your best for the big day? I’m gonna see if I can start squeezing in some gym time before work. You could join me!”

Aziraphale, who thought he already looked his best, thank you very much, simply smiled. “We’ll see, dear.”

Gabriel smiled at him and took another bite of asparagus. Aziraphale was never sure if Gabriel knew when he was brushing off attempts to slim him down, or if he decided not to hear him. It had been years now, didn't he understand that Aziraphale wasn’t interested in losing any weight. Why did he persist in mentioning it? Yes, this was definitely going on the list. In fact, it could be its own subsection, earmarked for extensive discussion on a rainy Saturday morning. And he supposed he was at fault, too -- he could stand to be more forceful. 

Later that night, as Aziraphale settled in to read before bed, Gabriel smooshed up against him and leaned his head on his shoulder. This warmth, this closeness, was nice. In the two weeks since they’d had The Conversation, Gabriel had been making more of an effort. One Friday night he’d even brought home sushi, and after dinner they’d tumbled into bed for the first time in a very long time. Aziraphale had found himself holding back tears, as the whole thing made him think of Crowley. 

In fact, he was finding it quite difficult to get Crowley out of his mind. At least once each day he was reminded of that shocking red hair and those sinewy hips, of the kind gaze when Aziraphale had explained why he dressed in such a unique manner. They’d only really spent a month together, but that time had left a rather large mark on Aziraphale’s being. He supposed he should hope that the memories would fade, but he didn’t want them to.

“Top hats and tails,” said Gabriel, with a soft and sleepy chuckle. “You Brits always have to go the extra mile, don’t you?” 

“My dear, if you’re going to marry a Brit, you’d better know what you’re in for,” said Aziraphale. “And a wedding needn’t be that extravagant, but I do think it’s rather nice to dress up.” 

Gabriel leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I know you do, love. Besides, a wedding is a big thing. It deserves some panache.”

Aziraphale nodded absent-mindedly, still reading his book. But once Gabriel had gone to sleep, those words seemed to sink further into his brain. It was true, a wedding was a big thing. He’d made this choice, he’d thought it was the right thing to do, but he hadn’t fully absorbed the gravity of it. Though they hadn’t even set a date yet, Aziraphale now lived with the certainty that one day he would be legally bound to Gabriel. And when they were legally bound, would he still be thinking of Crowley? 

These thoughts kept him up later than he would have liked, and he rose bleary-eyed and muddled. He ate his toast and kissed Gabriel goodbye with his head in a fog. As tired and distracted as he was, Aziraphale still looked for Crowley on the train. He’d done so for the past two weeks, and yet he’d seen neither hide nor hair of him. Crowley wasn’t on the train that morning either. 

Work, which had been such a burden during the previous month, was now a godsend. Aziraphale was more than happy to ignore his personal life and concentrate on problems that could, by and large, be solved easily. Commas had specific usages, a book could only contain a set number of signatures, there were deadlines to meet and quotas to fill. But on that particular day, wedding thoughts kept cropping up as he tried to work. Eventually, Aziraphale laid his head down on his desk and hoped that no one would need him for a few minutes. 

“Is everything all right?”

_Well, that was rather too much to hope for,_ he thought. Aziraphale raised his head and saw Tracy standing in the doorway looking rather concerned. He pasted a smile onto his face. “Yes, of course. Just having a small rest.”

“Are you sure?” said Tracy, peering at him as she crept into his office. “You're not as, I dunno, bouncy as you've been recently. Did someone...die?”

_No, a different path died_ , he thought but did not say. _And now I'm being a horrible fiance (good Lord, am I a fiance?) and I can't keep my mind off that other path._

“No, not at all,” he said. “Just tired, I suppose.”

“You know, you can talk to me about anything, love. I’m happy to listen,” said Tracy. “I edit copy and I order cakes, but I also give first-rate advice.”

Aziraphale smiled at her, touched that she would offer. “Thank you, my dear, that’s very kind. But I assure you I’m perfectly fine.” 

Tracy looked very dubious about this declaration, but she nodded to him. “I hope you get some proper rest, sweetheart.” 

As she left his office, Aziraphale thought about running after her, asking her to have a chat in the break room. He could explain it all, he could get it off his chest, and maybe then he would feel better about the bigness of a wedding. But he knew that Tracy wouldn’t approve of him marrying Gabriel. He simply couldn’t stomach her snarky remarks just yet. Eventually, yes, he would need to tell her the news. But it still felt so new to him, and he didn’t think he could take any criticism of his choice.

When his work day was over, Aziraphale bundled up against the cold, wet evening and made his way to the station. As the light drizzle settled on his hair and coat, he thought about the first night he’d spoken to Crowley, how he’d lent him his umbrella. Aziraphale scanned the platform, and then the train car, but there was no hint of red hair in the crowd of commuters. As he sat on the train, Aziraphale wondered if Crowley was all right. It was possible they simply kept missing each other, but what if something was wrong? 

Instead of reading on the way home, Aziraphale stared down at his phone. Crowley’s number was still there, amongst his meager list of contacts. This was very dangerous for several reasons, but he couldn’t bring himself to delete it. He could call, perhaps, just to see if everything was all right. Crowley probably never wanted to hear from him again, but the possibility was there. Aziraphale’s thumb hovered over the screen, wavering between deletion and dialing. Eventually he put the screen to sleep and leaned his head against the nearest pole. 

Proper rest, Tracy had said, and the thought of it only made Aziraphale feel more miserable. How could he ever rest properly with the guilt of his affair hanging over his head? 

Well, the answer was staring him right in the face. He needed to rid himself of his guilt, and the only way to do that was to tell the truth. After all, a little honesty could bring clarity to any situation. Perhaps he only needed to come clean with Gabriel about what he'd done, about what had led him to make some rather foolish mistakes. It might even be the perfect lead-in to a conversation about Aziraphale’s ever-growing list. 

Though he was fairly certain this was the right course of action, Aziraphale’s stomach twisted itself into knots as he walked home from the station. Suddenly the weight of his transgression threatened to crush him. In those weeks when he and Crowley had spent so much time together, Gabriel hadn’t been around very much. Now that Gabriel was more of a presence in Aziraphale’s life, the reality of what he’d done made a home in his chest. He had cheated, he had committed adultery, and now he was going to confess to it. 

The priests at his school and everyone in his life had spoken about the importance of confession, of offering one's sins up before god. Aziraphale had always approached it with fear, terrified of what he might find in his own soul.

Gabriel wasn’t home yet when Aziraphale stepped into the flat, which only meant he had more time to stew over what he was about to do. Each time his mind came around to rationalizing a different route, something that could prevent him from going through with his admission, he forced himself back on track. This had to be done, just like ending things with Crowley, if he was to move forward into a life with Gabriel. 

Aziraphale was just cooking some pasta for a stir fry when Gabriel arrived home. His hair was a bit wet on top from the rain, and he looked irritated as he set down his bag and slipped off his coat.

“Is there anywhere in England that isn’t cold and miserable?” he said. 

“The Isle of Wight, perhaps?” said Aziraphale. “But before you say anything, we’re not moving there.”

Gabriel chuckled and came to kiss Aziraphale. “One day I’ll take you to California and it’ll blow your mind.” 

“Ah, what’s life without a bit of rain?” said Aziraphale as he stirred the pasta.

“Cheery, for one thing,” said Gabriel. “You cooking tonight?” 

“I thought a stir fry might be nice,” said Aziraphale. He teetered on the cliff of his Big Conversation, wondering if he should mention it now or while they were eating. 

“Sounds good,” said Gabriel. He loosened his tie and stretched his arms up over his head. “I think I’ll take a shower while you cook. That all right?”

“Yes, perfectly fine,” said Aziraphale. “J-jolly good.” 

Gabriel didn’t notice the stammer in his voice. He simply strode off to the bedroom, and soon Aziraphale could hear the shower. Normally, when made to wait for something, Aziraphale disappeared into his own worries. But now he focused on dinner preparations, chopping up vegetables to add to the stir fry. He had to focus or else he’d mess something up and Gabriel would make some joke about his lack of kitchen skills and fondness for restaurants. Then he was liable to lose his nerve and have to wait for another opportunity.

All too soon, Gabriel came back into the kitchen, with his hair still damp and smelling of his expensive shampoo. He came up behind Aziraphale and wrapped his arms around his waist. If only it could be this simple, Aziraphale thought. If only it could be the two of them, standing here like this, with no secrets or unkind words. But the illusion broke when Gabriel patted Aziraphale’s stomach and nosed at the back of his neck. 

“This is what I mean when I say ‘wedding diet,’” he said. “It wouldn’t take much.” 

Aziraphale didn’t respond. He simply wiggled out of Gabriel’s embrace so he could drain the pasta and add it to the simmering vegetables. For once, instead of pushing, Gabriel backed off and went to pour two glasses of wine. Aziraphale’s hands shook as he assembled everything and made up two plates. He took a deep breath and put a smile on his face before carrying them over to the table.

“Wow, this looks great,” said Gabriel, quite surprised. 

“Thought I’d try something new,” said Aziraphale. 

They both tucked in, and Aziraphale was pleased when Gabriel nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. It was actually quite good, but for once Aziraphale didn't have much of an appetite. After only a few bites, he dabbed his napkin at his mouth and had a generous gulp of wine. 

“You know," he said. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night. That a wedding is a big thing.”

Gabriel stopped chewing and looked at him. “Ye-es? Are you about to get cold feet?”

“No, no, not at all. I was just thinking that it is rather a large step to take. And that it would be best to, to clear the air, as it were, before we take that step.”

“I wasn’t aware that the air needed any clearing,” said Gabriel, taking a sip of wine. 

“Yes. Well. You may not have anything to air. I...I do, though. There’s something I need to tell you.” 

Gabriel set his wine glass down and wiped his mouth, one hand resting in a fist beside his plate. "Oh?"

Aziraphale squirmed in his chair. He could still back out, there was time to make something up, something that wasn't so utterly awful. But he mentally grabbed himself by the collar and told himself in no uncertain terms that this had to be done. And then he was speaking, the words tumbling out of him. 

"Honesty is the cornerstone of a good relationship, and I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with you. So I, I feel the need to rectify that before we...before we make a commitment to each other. So. Gabriel. I'm afraid, well...I'm not proud of it, but I slept with someone else."

At first, Gabriel didn't react at all, which was quite unnerving. Then he began to chuckle, which was even more unnerving. It was true that Gabriel had never been physically rough with him, but suddenly Aziraphale worried that he might be. This was not the reaction he'd been expecting. 

"You're joking," he said, at last. 

"No," said Aziraphale. "I...I'm quite serious. I know it's terrible. It's the worst thing I could possibly have done. But it's over, and I'm so very sorry."

Gabriel shook his head, still laughing a bit in breathy huffs. "What are we talking about here? Was it a few years ago? When we first got together?"

Aziraphale swallowed, fingers inching toward his wine glass. "No, I'm afraid not. It was...quite recently."

"You cannot be serious," said Gabriel, with a snort. "Who would...oh my god. That skinny guy from the coffee shop? God, where'd you pick him up?"

"That doesn't matter," said Aziraphale, feeling a bit insulted on Crowley's behalf. 

"God," said Gabriel. He leaned forward and put his hands over his face. When he sat up again, he was wearing a slightly deranged smile. "All those nights, when I was working late, I bet you were glad."

"N-no, not necessarily," said Aziraphale. "And I'm not...that is, it's not your fault that I strayed, even if you were away so often."

"For work!" Gabriel shouted, and Aziraphale flinched. "I was working. It's not like I was trying to avoid you."

"Well. Sometimes it felt as though...it felt like you weren't too keen to be around me."

Gabriel sighed. "Aziraphale. I was working, that case demanded my full attention, you know that."

"Yes, well. You can only use that excuse for so long," said Aziraphale. He saw Gabriel's eyes widen and knew that response had been a mistake. 

"It's not an excuse, it's the reason we're able to afford this miserable little flat in this ridiculously expensive and exceedingly wet city," said Gabriel. 

"I know, I _know._ I was merely saying...that's how it felt to me, I'm only telling you how it looked from my perspective," said Aziraphale, scrambling to make things right. 

"Yeah. Right," said Gabriel. "And from your perspective, you had to go elsewhere for some affection. Oh, was I not doting enough for you? Did that string bean murmur sweet nothings in your ear?"

Aziraphale felt his face grow hot from anger and embarrassment. "There's no need to be rude."

"Isn't there?" said Gabriel, frowning across the table at him. "I can't believe you. Who do you think you are? Was he better than me? Did you think you could find someone better?"

"I…I don't know that I would say better," Aziraphale stammered, his mind all jumbled as he watched Gabriel for any sign that he might be about to pounce. 

"Yeah, didn't think so," said Gabriel. "God, this is...this is unbelievable. I mean, what happens now? What did you think would happen after you told me this?" 

"Well, I-I-I thought we could try to move past it," said Aziraphale, continuing even as Gabriel rolled his eyes. "You just proposed to me, my dear. Does this completely wipe that away? 

Gabriel stared at him, the anger apparent in his eyes. But he said nothing, so Aziraphale filled the silence. “I’m so, _so_ sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Gosh, I know how absurd that must sound. I want to make it up to you, and I...I want us to get married, to grow old together.”

“An affair, Aziraphale,” said Gabriel, arms crossed over his chest. “You had an _affair._ I never thought...that’s the last thing I ever would have expected. Not least of all because I don’t know who else would have you.” 

Aziraphale put a hand to his chest and reared back as though he’d been hit. He may as well have been, for all the precision and force Gabriel had put behind those words. They sat in silence for a moment, until Aziraphale couldn’t stand the sound of his own ragged breath, and then Gabriel shoved his chair backward and stood up. Aziraphale flinched, worried that an actual physical blow was coming next. But Gabriel just ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. 

“I gotta get out of here,” he said. “I just...I have to leave.” 

When Aziraphale spoke, his voice came out in a sort of croak. “What? Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” said Gabriel. He walked briskly to the door, shoved his feet into his shoes and pulled on his coat. “Somewhere that serves alcohol. Don’t wait up.” 

The door slammed shut, and Aziraphale sat at the dining table feeling rather stunned. He wanted to cry, but he didn't want to sit there and feel sorry for himself. Instead he stood up and began clearing away their dinner, his brain floating somewhere above his body as he dumped the uneaten food into the bin. He poured their remaining wine down the drain and set to work on the pots and pans he'd dirtied. 

When everything was sitting on the drying rack, Aziraphale felt an incredible exhaustion pass over him. He wanted to climb into bed and never get out again. And he was halfway to their room when the thought struck him -- when Gabriel returned, he was likely to be quite drunk. He'd only shouted at him so far, but what if he did something else after a few drinks? Aziraphale decided he didn't want to stick around to find out.

With no possible destination in mind, Aziraphale began to pack his overnight bag. He grabbed clothing from his closet at random, unsure of how much he'd need. He didn't stop to fold anything as he normally would, instead pushing it all into his bag willy-nilly, heart thumping hard in his chest all the while. Then he made a quick survey of the bathroom, grabbing as much of his daily toilette as possible. That was enough, he thought, and he could buy anything he might need if he was away for a long time.

Was he just packing for a few nights away? Or was this the end, properly the end? Aziraphale wasn’t sure; he felt torn in all kinds of directions, rattled by the events and mistakes of the past month. He’d spent two weeks in an impending-marriage mindset, and he didn’t know if he had to dismantle that and start anew. Or would Gabriel calm down and tell him to come home? 

There was a creaking sound from somewhere in the kitchen, probably just the building settling, but Aziraphale jumped, thinking Gabriel was home already. When he didn’t appear, Aziraphale grabbed his bag and hurried to put on his coat and shoes. He patted his pockets, trying to remember if he’d forgot anything, but his brain was caught in a fog. It was all he could do to lock up and make his way down to the street.

Aziraphale knew his lodging options were severely limited, but it was painfully obvious as he began to walk aimlessly. There was the bookshop, he supposed, but the night had turned bitterly cold. A small space heater and meager assortment of throw blankets would not keep him sufficiently warm through the night. He didn’t have Tracy’s number, his brother lived in Scotland, and his sister had two small children to contend with. The flat he’d just left was the warmest place he had access to, but he couldn’t turn back now. He couldn’t go back after what Gabriel had said to him. 

A horrible idea occurred to him, a terrible idea that was embarrassing and about ten different kinds of awkward. But he had no other choice, and so Aziraphale soon found himself standing outside a handsome brick building in Mayfair. Fingers shaking from the cold and from nerves, Aziraphale dialled the number he’d stared at on the train hours earlier. 

“Hello?” 

Crowley sounded well enough, if a bit surprised. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley still had his number saved, if he knew it was him calling. 

“Hello,” he replied, trying to sound less afraid than he was. “It’s, erm, it’s Aziraphale.”

“Yeah,” said Crowley. “I know.” 

A painfully awkward silence ensued, and Aziraphale considered simply hanging up. But a particularly cold wind whipped past him just then, so he pressed on. 

“I’m very sorry to call you,” he said. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear from me. But, erm, I find myself...sort of...without shelter, at the moment.”

More silence, and then, “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine,” said Aziraphale. “Erm. Simply put, certain events have come to light and I, well...I wouldn’t feel safe spending the night at my flat.”

There followed more confounding silence, and Aziraphale wished that he could see Crowley’s face. Was he upset? Was he annoyed? Perhaps someone else was there, and these silences were simply Crowley whispering to his new companion that some loser he used to know had called him up to ask for help.

“I’m buzzing you up,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale’s mind took a moment to process that response. 

“Oh. Oh! Thank you,” he said. But Crowley had already hung up, and then the buzzer was buzzing, so Aziraphale hurriedly grabbed the door handle to let himself in. 

Though Aziraphale hadn’t been there in several weeks, he knew the way to Crowley’s flat. As he stood in the lift, he tried not to think about everything that had transpired there. Suddenly he was standing in front of Crowley’s door, and he couldn’t muster up the courage to knock. He didn’t need to, though, as the door swung open for him.

Crowley had clearly been about to go to bed. Or perhaps he’d already been in bed when Aziraphale had called. He was wearing soft black joggers and a faded t-shirt that said _Queen_ , with a rather elaborate crest design. Aziraphale would never have pegged Crowley as a royalist, but then he had never asked about his political opinions. His hair was sticking up at the back, and Aziraphale felt like he was imposing, but the man before him was also a sight for sore eyes. 

“Come on, don’t just stand out there,” said Crowley, stepping aside.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Aziraphale bustled in with his overnight bag, aware of how different this felt from his first time in Crowley’s flat. He no longer felt able to touch Crowley, to lean too close to him. There was a wall between them, and that had been his doing. That had been his choice.

“Well,” said Crowley, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his joggers. “What’s wrong? Why are you wandering the streets of London?” 

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m sure you’re not interested in my woes, dear boy. I can’t quite believe you let me in, to be honest. If I were you, I would hate the very sight of me.” 

Crowley chewed on his lip, as though he were holding back a response. Then he said, “Listen. A man shows up on my doorstep and says he doesn't feel safe at home. Don’t I have a right to know why?” 

“Yes. Yes, I suppose you do,” said Aziraphale. He did owe Crowley some sort of explanation, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to push the words past the lump in his throat. “I...well, I made the mistake of telling Gabriel about us, that’s all.” 

Aziraphale didn’t think he’d ever actually seen a person’s hackles rise, but if he had to describe it, he’d describe the way Crowley looked just then. 

“What did he do to you?” Crowley demanded, eyes now darting over Aziraphale, as though he were searching for injuries.

“Nothing. I swear, he did nothing,” said Aziraphale. “Well, he shouted rather a lot, and he said some...well, he wasn’t very nice. But then he left, and I was just a bit worried about being there when he got home.” 

Crowley, seemingly satisfied that Aziraphale was intact and unharmed, nodded briskly. “Probably the right move.” 

Aziraphale nodded back and waited for Crowley to say something more, but he didn’t. So they stood their nodding at each other like a couple of fools until Aziraphale glanced away and caught sight of Crowley’s miniature garden. “The plants are looking well.”

Crowley shrugged. “They’re fine. Doing their best, all things considered.”

“Ah, yes,” said Aziraphale, wondering if perhaps the plants were an analogue for something else. “Thank you for...for letting me in. You didn’t have to, and I would have understood if you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t have to,” said Crowley. He still had not smiled, and Aziraphale found the absence of that now-familiar expression a bit upsetting. “But I couldn’t just leave you out in the cold. I’d have been...well, I don’t need that on my conscience.” 

“Quite right. I appreciate your act of chivalry, and I won’t take up any more of your time. I can make myself comfortable on the sofa.” 

“Hang on. I’ll get you some sheets. I’ve got an extra duvet somewhere, too,” said Crowley, turning toward his bedroom. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Crowley spun around. “Would you stop bloody thanking me? I’m not...this doesn’t mean anything. Okay? Just, just stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” said Aziraphale. 

“Like that,” said Crowley, gesturing toward him. “Oh, nevermind.” 

And then he was gone, and Aziraphale could hear him rummaging through a closet somewhere. Aziraphale stood in the entryway for a moment, and then crossed into the sitting room. He set his overnight bag beside the sofa and sat down, taking in the room as if seeing it for the first time. No matter what Crowley said, the plants really were looking well, as lush and verdant as when Aziraphale had first visited. The sofa held its own memories, of that first night when Aziraphale had made Crowley gasp his name, and of other more innocent nights spent eating takeaway and cuddling. This was rather difficult; he wished he hadn’t had to come here.

Eventually Crowley reappeared, arms wrapped around a fluffy grey duvet, one matching flat sheet, and a pillow. “Here you go. Use the bathroom if you need to, I don’t mind.” 

“Tha--, er, much appreciated,” said Aziraphale. He took the bedclothes from Crowley in the least awkward way possible, trying not to touch him overly much. Crowley was probably already sickened by the sight of him, and he didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable. 

“Listen,” said Crowley. “Er. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I guess I’m just a bit...I wasn’t expecting to see you. You know, as you might imagine. And I’m sorry Gabriel...well, I’m sorry you had to leave your flat.” 

It was very difficult not to thank someone who was being more accommodating than he needed to be. Aziraphale gave him a small smile and said, “I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Right. So. I hope the sofa is comfortable enough for you,” said Crowley. “What are you gonna do tomorrow?” 

Aziraphale felt a weight in his chest, as though something were climbing up his ribcage. But he tried to put on a brave face. “Well, I suppose I’ll wake up and see where the day takes me.”

Crowley nodded, hands back in his pockets. He shifted from foot to foot, hesitating, and then he nodded again. “Right. Sleep well, then.” 

“You too,” said Aziraphale, just barely holding back from calling him ‘dear.’

* * * * * *

Crowley turned onto his left side, but it was no more comfortable than it had been twenty minutes earlier. His hips were aching terribly, and he could hear the shower running in his bathroom. Aziraphale was in there right now, all pale skin and soap suds, and that thought was driving Crowley insane. He'd been so close to hugging him, to feeling the warmth of him again. But he'd held back, and he was proud of his restraint.

He’d recognized the number on his phone right away, of course. Even though it no longer came up as “Aziraphale,” he’d stared at it enough to recognize the numbers. And as he'd held down the buzzer, he'd thought -- how interesting that Aziraphale had not deleted him from his phone.

Yes, Crowley was upset with him. He'd been considering that cryptic, maddening phone call for two weeks. He'd gone through all the stages of grief and was just approaching acceptance. If he told Anathema that he'd willingly let Aziraphale into his flat, she would flog him. But Aziraphale had sounded desperate, and Crowley would never make him return to a situation that made him feel unsafe. 

Aziraphale still looked tired, and that worried Crowley. He would have thought that the man's life would become a lot simpler without him in it, but something was still causing him stress. He wondered what Gabriel had said, what he’d done to make Aziraphale so frightened that he would turn up here, on Crowley’s doorstep. It must have been pretty bad to force him into this awkward situation. Though he wanted to ask, it didn’t feel like his place to pry.

The shower switched off, and Crowley shifted onto his back. That helped the hip pain a bit, and soon enough he fell into a restless sleep. When he jerked awake, his right hip screaming at him, it was still dark outside. Crowley groaned and slid carefully to the edge of the bed. After a few deep breaths, he managed to get up and limp to the bathroom, where his painkillers lived. He gulped some down with a glass of water, and then shuffled back to his room. But on the way, he heard Aziraphale snoring. 

Though it was a patently bad idea, Crowley found himself in the sitting room, peering down at Aziraphale. He was lying on his side, face smushed into the pillow. His white-blonde hair stood out against the dark gray of Crowley’s bedding, and Crowley had to fight back the urge to touch his hair, to kiss his forehead. 

Crowley didn’t stand there for long, aware of how creepy he was being. He limped back to bed and laid staring at the ceiling until the painkillers worked their magic. When his alarm went off the next morning, he stumbled out of bed to find Aziraphale gone. He’d folded the duvet and sheet into a neat pile, with the pillow placed on top. He hadn’t left a note.

With a sigh, Crowley sauntered back to his room and texted Anathema: _emergency lunch today, you pick & I'll pay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, but we’re still in the well of despair. Next week we begin to climb out, I promise! In the meantime, “a view to the sea” is still there if you need a warm hug from an angel wearing tartan pyjamas (god, wouldn’t that be nice?). Thank you for all your wonderful comments, you’re all so lovely!


	10. found me in your heart, find me here again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Something’s been up with you for weeks, love. Do you want to get some lunch and talk it all over?” 
> 
> “Gosh, yes.”

Aziraphale made sure to leave Crowley’s flat before Crowley woke up the next morning. He didn’t want to impose any more than he already had, and he didn’t want to force the man to make breakfast conversation with him. Besides that, he was worried that Crowley would be less understanding in the morning. Frankly, he didn’t think he could handle being told off by two men in the space of twelve hours. So he opted for the human equivalent of walking away with one’s tail between one’s legs and left in a hurry. 

Feeling rather less than fresh, Aziraphale found a cafe where he could have some breakfast -- a scone with lots of cream and jam, Gabriel be damned. As he sat there, watching all the normal, well-adjusted adults come in for their morning coffees, he considered all the wrong moves he’d made in the past month. It had been wrong to lie to Gabriel from the start, it had been wrong to accept his proposal when he was so conflicted, and it had been wrong to break up with Crowley hastily over the phone. Of course it had also been wrong of him to even accept Crowley’s dinner invitations and compliments and flirting in the first place. 

Now, stewing over his cup of Earl Grey, Aziraphale could see the right path so clearly. If given a second chance, he would absolutely tell Gabriel sooner. Not least of all because if he had, he wouldn’t be miserably eating a scone in a cafe now. No, if he’d been braver, he might at this very moment be having breakfast with Crowley and riding the train to work with him. But he’d done it all wrong, and now Gabriel and Crowley both hated him. 

Just then Aziraphale’s phone pinged, and he glanced at the screen to find a new message from Gabriel. With a sigh, he tapped on the notification.

_Please let me know you’re okay. Worried sick last night._

Yes, thought Aziraphale, Gabriel had likely spent the night feeling sick, but not with worry for him. The text was perfunctory, with no apparent feeling behind it. He didn’t get the sense that Gabriel was actually concerned, not in the way Crowley had been when Aziraphale told him he didn’t feel safe. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure Gabriel had ever shown that level of concern for him. Perhaps that’s why it was such a surprise to see it from Crowley. 

Aziraphale’s instinct was to respond immediately, just to get it off his mind. But, in truth, he didn’t know if he was okay, and he didn’t want to lie to Gabriel anymore. This seemed like a good place to start a new habit, and so he pushed his phone away and kept eating his scone. 

He managed to drag himself out of his thoughts in time to rush to the train and get to work. Once he was in his office, he was able to concentrate on the page proofs that were waiting for him. He buried himself in the task and made it halfway through the book by lunch. The only reason he knew it was lunchtime at all was that Tracy knocked on the door to his office and gave him a little wave.

“Hiya,” she said. “Haven’t heard a peep out of you all day. I didn’t even hear you come in, you little church mouse. How are you, dear?” 

Lonely. The truth was that he was lonely, and it was time for Aziraphale to be as honest with himself as he wanted to be with Gabriel. “Well, I’m a bit worse for wear. I lied a bit, yesterday, when you asked how I was.” 

“Yeah, I sort of figured that,” said Tracy. “Something’s been up with you for weeks, love. Do you want to get some lunch and talk it all over?” 

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. “Gosh, yes.” 

Tracy took him to a sushi bar, bless her heart, and he was already feeling better by the time he had his food in front of him. She let him have a few maki rolls before saying, “So, let’s begin at the beginning, eh? I reckon something happened right around your birthday?” 

Aziraphale glanced up at her. “What, were you taking notes on me, as though I were a zoo exhibit?” 

“No, love,” said Tracy. “I’m a person with eyes, and I notice when my colleagues are out of sorts. Or when they’re in quite good spirits. And for a few weeks you seemed rather...bouncy.”

Aziraphale really should have known that someone would notice. Gabriel may have been emotionally blind, but that didn’t mean that everyone was. “Ah. Well, yes, it was around that time that I...met someone.” 

“Oh,” said Tracy, her eyes wide with interest. “I wasn’t expecting that, I’ll admit it. Who’s the new fella?” 

“His name is Crowley,” said Aziraphale, unable to hold back a smile. “Well, Anthony, but he doesn’t like to be called that. I, er, I met him on the train, actually.” 

“A classic meet-cute!” said Tracy, grinning now. “What’s he like, this Crowley?” 

“Well, he’s...he’s awfully nice,” said Aziraphale. He thought back to the night before, when Crowley had offered his couch even though he clearly didn’t want to see him. Why was he so nice when Aziraphale had been so terrible? He set down his chopsticks and took a shuddering breath. “Oh, Tracy. The truth is that it doesn’t matter how wonderful he is, because he hates me now. I’ve made such a horrible mess of everything.”

“All right, all right,” said Tracy, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “Tell me about it, dear. Maybe we can fix it together, eh?” 

“I went to dinner with him, several times, and we ended up in bed,” said Aziraphale. He kept his eyes down, not wanting to see Tracy’s reaction. “I didn’t tell Gabriel, or break things off with him, which was a dreadful mistake. And then Gabriel proposed to me, of all things, and I said yes.”

“Oh, dear,” said Tracy, softly. Her hand was still on his, fingers now gently rubbing his wrist. “Don’t tell me you’re still involved with Crowley?” 

“No. I...I told him I couldn’t see him anymore. And I told him over the phone, which I know is so impolite, but I couldn’t bear to see the look on his face.” 

“Well, no wonder you’ve seemed so miserable,” said Tracy. “If you don’t mind my saying so.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Aziraphale. “I have been, rather. But that’s not all, I’m afraid.” 

“There’s more? Gosh.”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “Last night I told Gabriel about Crowley. I only wanted to clear the air before we, you know, did something like get married. But he was quite upset about it, and understandably so.”

“You poor dear,” said Tracy. “You know, you could’ve told me this was all going on.”

Aziraphale looked up at last, touched by the kind look on Tracy’s face. “It seems I’m not very good at that. And I didn’t want to burden you with all...all of this. But thank you for listening now. I so appreciate it, my dear.” 

Tracy nodded. “Of course! Now. Does this mean you and Gabriel have broken up?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” said Aziraphale, with a sigh. “Nothing was specifically said, but it certainly fits with the tone of the evening.”

“Right. Then I hope you don’t mind me saying that he was all wrong for you, love,” said Tracy. “Granted, I never saw you at home with him, but I’ve met him at several Christmas parties now, and he’s a knob.”

“Yes, I know you’ve never been fond of him,” said Aziraphale. “Not after he made those comments about tarot.”

“Sweetie, that’s not why,” said Tracy, with a gentle smile. “Everyone’s entitled to their opinion of the cards, I wouldn’t hold that against a person. No, at that same party he kept making remarks about how you needed to hold off on the biscuits. He wouldn’t let it go.” 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. He didn’t remember the exact instance, but it certainly sounded like Gabriel. “Well, that was rather par for the course. I mean, after a while those sorts of things slid right off me. Like...like water off a duck’s back.” 

Tracy pursed her lips at him. “Really? Are you sure about that?” 

Aziraphale twisted his hands together and remembered his growing list of grievances. “No, I suppose not. I...I’ve learned not to put any stock in what he says, but the words still hurt.” 

“Of course they do,” said Tracy. “That’s not something you should have to hear from your partner. Not ever.” 

Six years was a long time, and in that time Aziraphale had built up coping mechanisms. Any time Gabriel mentioned that he should start a diet, Aziraphale mentally reinforced his confidence in himself. He liked the way he looked, and he enjoyed indulging in food, and he’d never let Gabriel actually change him. But even with his coping mechanisms in place, it was always rather disappointing to find that Gabriel didn’t see him the way he saw himself. 

“Crowley was the exact opposite,” said Aziraphale, quietly. “He always encouraged me to get dessert, and he, well...he made it clear that he enjoyed the way I look.” 

Tracy winked at him. “I take your meaning, and I like the sound of this Crowley bloke.”

“I did as well, I really did,” said Aziraphale. 

“This might be a silly question, dear, but why didn’t you tell Gabriel as soon as you met Crowley? It seems like you were interested in him straight away, and when things got more serious, well, that would’ve been the time, eh?” 

“Of course it would’ve been the time,” said Aziraphale, with a groan. “But Gabriel was working late, and he never seemed to be around. I couldn’t seem to find the time to corner him and have the big conversation.” 

“Hmm,” said Tracy. She picked up her chopsticks and shifted around some of her sushi rolls. Then she popped one into her mouth and studied Aziraphale as she chewed. Eventually she said, “Was that all? Really?”

Here it was, here was the part of confession that always scared him the most. But Aziraphale forced himself to look deeper, to search his heart for the buried answer to Tracy’s question. When he found it, he didn’t want to say the words out loud, but Tracy was looking at him kindly, and she’d already been so kind as to offer lunch and listen to him. So he took a deep breath and let the words out all in a rush.

“I was afraid. I was terrified of what Gabriel would say, how he would react. I was afraid that this was just a fling, that Crowley would grow tired of me, and then I wouldn’t even have Gabriel to run back to. I...I’m really just a coward, I suppose.” 

“Sweetheart, no!” said Tracy. Her chopsticks were down again, both hands on his. “You’re only human, we’ve all been there. It’s hard to put your heart on the line. But gosh it’s worth it when the stars align in your favor.” 

“H-how am I supposed to know if the stars are in my favor?” 

“Well,” said Tracy. “For one thing, I could read your cards for you. And don’t think I don’t notice the way you scrunch up your nose when I mention that, but it might do you some good. For another, sometimes you just need a good gut check. So, tell me, what sorts of words do you associate with being with Gabriel?” 

This was turning out to be a rather draining lunch hour, but Aziraphale had been getting nowhere by skating on the surface of his thoughts. Tracy was forcing him to think about things he’d ignored for years, and he knew this was the only way to sort things out. 

“Stable, I suppose. We’ve been together for so long, after all. But also critical, and nervous, I’m quite often nervous to come home and find that he’s there. Also disappointing, and I see what you’ve done here, obviously, because none of that sounds good, does it?”

Tracy was nodding as he said all of this. When he’d finished, she said, “Now, what about Crowley?”

Aziraphale sighed. Though Crowley had cropped up in his thoughts over the past few weeks, he’d mostly tried to push those thoughts away. Now he made himself dwell on the time they’d had together, and how he’d felt during all those precious evenings. “Happy, safe, affectionate, adoring...oh, oh Tracy. I’m so very sorry for crying, this is rather untoward of me.” 

“It’s all right, dear,” said Tracy, as she handed him a tissue from her handbag. “I think you see the difference, eh?” 

“Yes, it’s...it’s hard to miss, really, even for a fool like me,” said Aziraphale, dabbing at his eyes under the rims of his spectacles. “Good Lord. How do I fix any of this? Is it even possible to fix?”

“It’ll take some time, but I think it can be managed,” said Tracy, with a knowing smile. 

“I’m not so sure,” said Aziraphale. “What if Crowley doesn’t want me back? I...I’m afraid I hurt him rather deeply. I wouldn’t blame him if he doesn’t want me back.” 

Tracy sighed and patted his hand again. “He may not, you should probably prepare yourself for that. But even if you can’t get Crowley back, just remember you deserve someone like him, eh? Someone who will treat you right.” 

Aziraphale nodded, though this seemed like an utterly unreachable goal. He’d been very, very lucky to have met someone like Crowley at his age. What were the chances that he’d ever find someone like him again? 

“Now, where are you sleeping tonight?” 

“Well, I’m not really sure. I...I’m a bit embarrassed about this, but I went to Crowley’s last night, and I believe that was a mistake I cannot repeat.” 

Tracy’s eyes went wide. “You went to...Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you really have had quite the month. We can’t have you back there again tonight, and I don’t think you should go home just yet. Would you like to stay at my place, dear? It’s just me and my Shadwell, but we’ve got a lovely pull-out sofa for unexpected guests.” 

“Oh, thank you,” said Aziraphale, rather overcome by the kind invitation. “Thank you so much. I will take you up on that. But I promise I won’t be an imposition for long.”

“You’re welcome to stay for as long as you need,” Tracy insisted.

“I do appreciate that,” said Aziraphale. “But I believe I know what I need to do now, and I’ll waste no time in doing it.”

* * * * * *

“Aziraphale.”

“Yep.”

“At your flat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Last night.” 

“That’s about the size of it, yeah.” 

Once Anathema had repeated all the pertinent details of what Crowley had told her, she sat back in her chair and let out an exhausted breath. Crowley nodded, because that was pretty much how he felt about it as well. He hadn’t decided yet whether it was a good thing that Aziraphale had left without saying goodbye, or saying anything at all. Additional time spent in Aziraphale’s company might have weakened his resolve even further. It was bad enough that he now knew something had happened between him and Gabriel, and boy did Crowley wish he had more information on that front. 

“And, again, what did he say?” 

Crowley sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. His hips were aching again, it had been a rough couple of days, pain-wise. “He said he’d told his boyfriend about us, me and him. And he said he didn’t feel safe staying there, waiting for the asshole to get home.” 

“Wow,” said Anathema, letting out a long breath. “Well. That was _extremely_ nice of you, to let him stay the night.”

“‘M not nice,” said Crowley, from behind his hands. “Was just the right thing to do. I know what the asshole is like, at least a little. Couldn’t exactly let Aziraphale go running straight back to him.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Anathema. “And you get to feel like the hero again, eh?” 

“Oh, for fuck’s...it’s not about that,” said Crowley. He dropped his hands to the table between them and stared down at his rather forlorn-looking falafel. “He had nowhere else to go.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” 

“Believe me, I do. He looked as mortified as I felt. He wouldn't have come to me if he hadn’t been desperate,” said Crowley. “He doesn’t exactly seek out confrontation.”

“Right. Okay, fair enough. Still, it’s just annoying. Last week you said you were finally coming to terms with it, like it wasn’t sitting on your chest every morning.” 

Crowley nodded. “I know. Yeah, I know. And I can’t pretend like seeing him didn’t, you know, stir things up in me. So, whatever. Back to square one.”

Anathema went back to her own falafel and they sat in silence for a while. Crowley couldn’t dredge up any interest in his lunch. Every time he thought about the way Aziraphale’s voice shook on the phone, and how small he’d seemed standing in his entryway, every part of him wanted to find the courthouse Gabriel had crawled out of and punch him. Crowley hadn’t punched anyone in a very long time, but he reckoned it was a skill that never left you. He might break his own hand, but it would be worth it.

“So, what’s up?” said Anathema, eventually. “What’s going on in the old noggin?” 

“I’m just...before you say anything, this is _not_ about saving him or anything. I’m just wondering whether he’ll still go back. This seemed like a breaking point, but what if that asshole sweet talks him again? He must have said something to make him stay before. What if he doubles down and Aziraphale’s just...trapped?” 

“There’s nothing more you can do, Crowley. Just leave it,” said Anathema. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s true. He broke it off with you -- pretty cavalierly, too. Last night was an aberration, he’s no longer in your life. You have no responsibility to help him.” 

“Okay, so. When you say it, it’s all well and good. But it’s not so easy to put into practice,” said Crowley. “And I know I’ve been doing all right these past few weeks, but it’s like...it was all just bubbling under the surface. I feel like I’m right back in again.” 

“I know,” said Anathema, eyeing him warily. “That’s why it sucks so much that he showed up.”

Crowley nodded along with her, but he didn’t really think it sucked. Yeah, it had been awkward, and he really had been making progress before last night. But seeing Aziraphale had also made him feel something again, and he’d been pretty damn numb for two weeks. He knew Anathema was right, that he couldn’t let it consume him, and he couldn’t just crawl right back into a bad pattern. But a weaker part of him wanted to, very badly, and there was only a thin thread holding that back from taking over his brain. 

“Do you want me to stay at yours tonight?” said Anathema. “I’d be happy to, just say the word. And you should probably delete him from your call history, ‘cause now you’ve got his number again.”

“Yeah, all right, I don’t need babysitting,” said Crowley. He picked up his falafel and took a sloppy bite, reasoning that at least part of his problem might be a simple need for food. 

“Hey, pal, I’m trying to help you out,” said Anathema. “Do you remember how miserable you were that first night? Because I do, and I don’t want to see you like that again.” 

“I know. I know, and I appreciate your help. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Okay,” said Anathema, dubiously. “But delete him from your call history, I’m serious.” 

Crowley knew she wouldn’t let up on that, and it really was a good idea to not have Aziraphale’s number on hand. So he put down his falafel, picked up his phone, and deleted that two-minute call.

* * * * * *

Tracy shared a charming flat with her husband, the enigmatically named Sergeant Shadwell. He seemed a nice enough man, if a bit strange. The first thing he’d asked Aziraphale was how many nipples he had. Bemused, but trusting the man wasn’t dangerous because Tracy was smiling indulgently at him, Aziraphale had answered. After that Shadwell had been perfectly nice to him, and Aziraphale enjoyed seeing the way he and Tracy sparred lovingly.

The flat had a bedroom at the back, a kitchen in the middle, and a sitting room as soon as you stepped in the front door. That was where the pull-out sofa resided, so it was where Aziraphale resided that evening. The sofa was not as comfortable as Crowley’s, but he tried not to think about that too much. Instead he focused on his Plan, which had occupied his thoughts for most of the afternoon. 

Aziraphale’s lunch with Tracy had given him much to think about, and it helped him realize that it was time to leave Gabriel. In fact, it was long past time to leave Gabriel, and that made Aziraphale want to do it as quickly as possible. But he did need time to consider everything, so he was grateful to Tracy for the use of her pull-out sofa. The first thing he did was text Gabriel as he was leaving work. 

_I’m perfectly fine. Staying with a friend tonight. I’ll let you know before I head back to the flat._

There had been no response, and Aziraphale got the feeling he was being punished for not responding sooner. Nevermind that Gabriel always took at least an hour to respond to his texts, even on his sodding birthday.

Setting that aside, Aziraphale knew he’d need a place to stay if he left Gabriel. He was prepared to insist that Gabriel remain in the flat, as it would hold too many sour memories for him. It was time, he thought, to furnish the flat above his bookshop. After dining with Tracy and Shadwell, Aziraphale sat down with a notebook he’d packed and started making a list of everything he would need to purchase or do to make the flat livable. The list was long, but it would be good for him to keep busy.

As he tried to fall asleep that night, Aziraphale thought about all the things he wanted to say to Gabriel. Many of them were things he’d thought of that fateful night, before Gabriel had surprised him with his lackluster proposal. Yes, he could see now how tepid the proposal was, and how unaffectionate Gabriel was in general. It was a bit embarrassing, really, that he hadn’t seen it before, not even when Crowley had been so different with him. 

He also thought rather a lot about Crowley, and about whether Crowley would ever deign to speak with him again. Aziraphale knew he couldn’t just call him up and ask to see him, at least not right away. He’d need to build his own life first, he’d need to prove that he was well and truly severed from Gabriel, and that he was serious about making it all up to Crowley. But that was rather far down his list. He only hoped that by the time he got to that step, Crowley would still be interested.

But dwelling on that would only keep him from sleep, so Aziraphale tried to think about sheep jumping over a fence or something equally inane, and eventually he drifted off.

* * * * * *

Aziraphale stood on the street outside the flat where he’d lived for four years. After two years of adopting drawers in each other’s flats, Gabriel had suggested they find a place together. They’d been lying in bed when he’d said it, Aziraphale’s head on Gabriel’s chest, and it seemed like the perfect next move. The flat was very nice, and for a time they’d been happy there. But when he looked back now, Aziraphale could see the cracks that had appeared even as they were moving in. He felt foolish for not clocking it then, but he was trying not to berate himself for that.

Before he got on the train that night, he’d texted Gabriel to say he was coming over. He was careful not to give any indication of his intentions. He didn’t want Gabriel to sit in the dark, stewing and thinking up clever retorts for everything Aziraphale might say. Gabriel had already stopped him from ending things once, he didn’t want it to happen again. He had a script in his head, he knew the beats he wanted to hit. He would push through this no matter what Gabriel said or did.

Of course, he was also prepared to run if he needed to. Tracy had made him promise to call as soon as he was finished and heading back to her flat. He had a plan to run to the corner shop and call a cab if he needed to get out quickly. In truth, he didn’t know how Gabriel would react, but he thought he’d had a preview the other night. 

Aziraphale steeled himself and made his way up to the flat. It was all so familiar and yet already foreign. When he’d left the other night, it was like shedding an old skin. This return meant nothing -- if anything, it was admin. He just needed to collect his things, and then he’d be gone for good.

When he opened the door to the flat, Aziraphale was greeted by the strong aroma of garlic and onions. He didn’t bother to take off his shoes, knowing that would only slow him down if he needed to leave. In the kitchen, Gabriel had his sleeves rolled up and was stirring an enormous pot on the stove. When he turned, he greeted Aziraphale with a sort of half smile.

“Staying with a friend, huh?” he said. “That skinny guy, maybe?” 

“No, I’m at Tracy’s,” said Aziraphale. “I’m here to get the rest of my things.” 

Gabriel didn’t even flinch. “But you’ll stay for dinner, right?”

“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” said Aziraphale. 

“I’m making a batch of homemade pasta sauce,” said Gabriel. “You remember, my grandma’s recipe. I made it on our third anniversary, our first year in this flat.” 

Aziraphale did remember, as it had been quite the romantic evening. They’d lit candles all around the flat and turned off all the lights. The sauce had been spectacular, and they’d had gelato for dessert. But later, after they’d made love on the sofa, Gabriel had palmed his hips and said they probably shouldn’t eat the leftovers. One extravagant dinner had been enough. The rest of the gelato, he said, should probably be chucked in the bin, otherwise Aziraphale would eat it all. So many evenings followed that pattern, with the seed of romance blooming into an ugly weed.

“That’s lovely, I hope you enjoy it,” said Aziraphale. “But I really shouldn’t stick around. I came to get some of my things and to tell you something. Gabriel, I no longer want to see you.” 

Gabriel set down his spoon and turned around, arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, okay, I get it. The silent treatment said it all -- you’re upset with me for yelling the other night.” 

“No,” said Aziraphale. “No, that’s not it. I wish to break up with you, this is not a passing fancy.”

“A passing fancy,” said Gabriel, imitating Aziraphale’s accent. “I’ll tell you what’s a passing fancy, your entanglement with that red-haired string bean. I thought it over, and I accept that you had the affair. You were right, we can move past this.” 

“We really, really can’t,” said Aziraphale. “You see, my dear, this is not just about the affair. I didn’t realize it at first, but I haven’t been happy in this relationship for quite some time. Long before I met Crowley, certainly.” 

Gabriel looked genuinely flabbergasted, as though the thought had never occurred to him. He stared at him for a moment, and then said, “Why haven’t you been happy? I mean...you never seemed anything but happy.” 

“Yes, I’m very good at lying,” said Aziraphale. “To everyone, and apparently to myself as well. It would be rather incredible if it weren’t so insidiously self-destructive.” 

“Jesus, have you been to therapy?” 

“No, but I expect that should be my next move,” said Aziraphale. “Because you...you’ve been rather horrible to me, Gabriel. And for some reason I couldn’t see it. But I see it now, and I...I won’t let you treat me like this any longer.”

With his brow furrowed, Gabriel took a few steps toward him. “Are you at least gonna tell me what I’ve done that’s so horrible?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Do you know how many times you mention my weight in just one week? And it isn’t always direct, sometimes it’s just a passing remark about my choice of breakfast. I’ve put up with it for a very long time, but it does wear one down.” 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “God, really? I didn’t think it even bothered you that much. I mean, you always have a retort at the ready. And it’s not like I’m dragging you to the gym or anything.” 

“No, and that’s only because I put my foot down,” said Aziraphale. “Now I have to draw the line a bit closer, I won’t allow myself to be spoken to like that.”

“I’m not trying to insult you,” said Gabriel. “You know I’m just concerned for your health.” 

“My health is perfectly fine, I assure you,” said Aziraphale. “Besides, if you only cared about my health, you wouldn’t spend hundreds of pounds on designer trousers that are too small for me. I know you don’t like the way I look, Gabriel, and so I can’t understand why you’re still with me.” 

At this, Gabriel floundered, an obvious look of surprise passing over his face before he gave Aziraphale a placating smile. “Sweetie, I’m with you because I enjoy spending time with you.”

“I’m not sure I believe that,” said Aziraphale. “And yes, I know you’ve been busy with a big case recently. But even before that, we’d stopped doing things at the weekend. For goodness’ sake, you _forgot about my birthday dinner._ ” 

“I did _not_ forget,” Gabriel insisted. “It just so happened that’s the night the case got started. You should’ve seen how many boxes of discovery I had to go through.”

“I understand that, dear,” said Aziraphale. “But you’ve never suggested a replacement celebration. I’m sure it never even crossed your mind.”

“Well, I...I...you didn’t seem that upset,” said Gabriel. “You never brought up a replacement celebration either.”

“Fair enough,” said Aziraphale, with a nod. “You’re right, and I could’ve been clearer about how much you mentioning my weight bothers me.”

“So...so now that I know, I’ll be better,” said Gabriel. He crossed his arms again, planted his feet. “We’re kind of on a level playing field now anyway, right? I’ve been a bit shit, you’ve had an affair…”

“My dear,” said Aziraphale. “Why on earth are you fighting so hard for this?”

“Because I love you,” said Gabriel, a bit desperately. “I...it’s...we’ve just been together for a while. You know, relationships can grow stale. In a way, it’s kind of a good thing that you had the affair. It kinda spices things up, I guess. Maybe we needed something to shake us out of a rut. Now we can start fresh, we’ll be just as good as before.” 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” said Aziraphale. “I’m going to take as much of my things as I can stuff into that old suitcase in my closet, and I’ll send movers to come and get the rest. It’s really just my wardrobe and my books, you can keep the furniture and the flat.” 

Aziraphale didn’t want to talk about this any longer; he’d said everything he needed to say. There was more that he _could_ say, certainly, but he’d decided not to be overly cruel to Gabriel. He didn’t want to stand there and throw vicious words at him, as he knew that would only turn into a screaming match. If he could do this calmly, it would be for the best. So he strode past him, heading for the bedroom, but Gabriel grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Why are you doing this?” he said, confusion and anger swirling in the deep blue of his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re just going to walk out on me.” 

“I can’t quite believe it either,” said Aziraphale. He forced himself not to panic, even with Gabriel’s fingers digging into his arm. “But I need to. You’ll be perfectly fine without me.” 

“Shows how much you know,” said Gabriel. He let go of Aziraphale’s arm, and Aziraphale hurried into the bedroom. But Gabriel followed, leaning in the doorway as he began to pack up. “I really meant it, you know. You’re my rock. You’re my stability, you always have been. Without you, I’ll just...I’ll just have work.”

“Yes, and I know how much you enjoy it,” said Aziraphale, grunting a bit as he heaved his old suitcase out of the closet. “You said it yourself, you’re also very good at it. Now you’ll have more time to just concentrate on your cases.” 

Gabriel sighed. “The flat will look so empty without your books. I’ve always loved the way they look, all lined up and stately.”

“You’re welcome to get some books of your own,” said Aziraphale. He surveyed his closet quickly, selecting the shirts and waistcoats he favored the most. He took only the books he had on his nightstand; there were plenty of books he could read at the shop if he made it through these. With that sorted, he crossed into the bathroom, and Gabriel followed. 

“So many memories in this flat,” he said. Aziraphale glanced into the mirror and saw Gabriel gazing wistfully at him. “God, maybe I should move, too. It’d be so strange to be here without you.” 

Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he gathered the toiletries he’d left behind the other night. If Gabriel hadn’t said such awful things to him before, if Tracy hadn’t helped him to understand what was going on in his own mind, Aziraphale might have given in. As it was, he recognized that Gabriel was doing exactly what he’d done the morning he’d proposed. He must have sensed that Aziraphale wanted to leave then, and he’d deployed this same manipulation. But it wouldn’t work this time, Aziraphale refused to let it.

Once he had everything he needed for the immediate future, Aziraphale zipped up the suitcase and wheeled it past Gabriel. At the front door, as Aziraphale pulled on his coat and scarf, Gabriel pressed in close and set his big hands on Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale froze, not knowing what to expect next. 

“Don’t go,” said Gabriel. “I’ll be better, I promise. We can...we can just start from scratch.” 

Very carefully, Aziraphale pulled back, out of Gabriel’s grip. “It won’t work this time, my dear. I’m afraid I’ve given you enough chances.”

Gabriel looked utterly bemused by this, and he just stood and watched as Aziraphale buttoned his coat and left the flat. If only Aziraphale had known that Gabriel would be so stupefied by him standing up for himself, he needn’t have worried at all about how the evening would go.

Out on the street, Aziraphale took a deep breath of the cool night air and let it out with a relieved chuckle. He was free now. If everything went to plan, he’d never have to see Gabriel again. As he made his way to the station, he had the absurd urge to click his heels together. He settled for a happy little jig on the platform, totally unconcerned with who might see his sloppy footwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so surprisingly easy to write! The last two were like pulling teeth, perhaps because I hate putting these guys through misery. But now we’re on the way up, and I’m anxious to get things sorted! Also it was fun to write Gabriel getting his ass handed to him (sorry to disappoint, but he was not in fact having an affair of his own -- he’s just a thoughtless buffoon!). Thanks for all your lovely comments, you lovely people! <3


	11. coming alive, with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therapy, making amends, and a reunion.

“Hello, Aziraphale. How are you today?” 

“Erm, all right. Quite all right, just a bit nervous. How are you, Masha?” 

Masha smiled. “I’m doing well. Why are you nervous today?” 

“Well, er, I’m meeting up with Crowley today.”

“Ah, of course,” said Masha. She made a note on the pad she always had with her during their sessions. “Why are you feeling nervous about that?” 

“So many reasons,” said Aziraphale, his cheerful smile faltering. “We’ve been in touch recently, but I haven’t actually seen him since I spent the night at his flat. I haven’t even seen him on the train.”

“But chatting with him has gone well so far, right?” 

“You say chatting, but it’s really only been texts here and there,” said Aziraphale. “It was easy at first because I had something to say. I just wanted to apologize for leaving in such a rush after that night. Then he asked about Gabriel...he wanted to know if I was safe. But once I'd told him about the break-up, I wasn’t sure what else to say.” 

“Really? I would think you have quite a bit more to say to him.” 

“Perhaps. All of that feels like something you should say in person.” 

“Ah, so you feel nervous about what you’re going to say to him. Why don’t you run it by me?”

Masha was a good therapist, and Aziraphale had been enjoying their twice-weekly sessions. She’d come highly recommended from Pepper, a young woman who worked with Aziraphale. One morning, as they were both brewing some tea, Aziraphale had mentioned that he was looking for someone to talk to, and Pepper had mentioned Masha. Since then he’d been meeting with her and explaining all his current woes. So Masha knew rather a lot about Crowley and Aziraphale’s complicated feelings concerning him. But he still felt a bit bashful about pouring his heart out in her office.

“I’d rather not give you the exact words, if that’s all right,” said Aziraphale. “But mainly I want to apologize for everything, for all of it. I strung him along without telling him about Gabriel, and then I left him in limbo, not knowing if I was actually going to leave Gabriel.”

Masha nodded. “Just remember what we’ve talked about. What you did does not make you evil or unlovable. Those actions stemmed from your mindset and your thought process at the time. You were afraid of losing the stability in your life.”

“Yes, right,” said Aziraphale. Being honest with oneself was healthy, of course, but it was also slightly exhausting. “I want to show Crowley that I’m trying to change those patterns. I want him to see that things could be different between us, if...if we were to see each other again. In a romantic sense.” 

“Good, that’s good. But remember that you can’t force Crowley to be with you. You may feel like you’re doing all the right things and making amends, and he may still want to keep his distance.” 

“Indeed,” said Aziraphale. This was something they’d talked about the previous week, and it had haunted him since then. Crowley had seemed friendly enough in their text exchanges, but Aziraphale wouldn’t be surprised if he still held some resentment toward him. “But he did agree to see me, so that must count for something.” 

Masha nodded slowly and made some more notes. There was so much nodding involved in therapy, and Aziraphale knew it was likely done to get him to keep talking, but sometimes he just wanted Masha’s input. Though, if all he wanted was advice, he probably should have stuck to having lunch with Tracy. 

“Although I suppose he might have agreed because he has things he wants to say to me as well,” said Aziraphale. “Good Lord...what if he’s only agreed to meet up with me because he wants to air his grievances?”

“Hmm, does that sound like Crowley or Gabriel?” 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, recognizing one of his familiar patterns -- catastrophizing relationship conversations as a result of his past experience. “Quite right. That sounds like something Gabriel would do.” 

More nodding from Masha. “Have you heard from Gabriel at all?” 

“No. Thank goodness,” said Aziraphale. It had been nearly a month since he’d last seen him, looking forlorn and confused at the front door of their flat. He did wonder what he was up to, but he was grateful each day he woke up to no messages from him. 

After his therapy session, Aziraphale went to a cafe near Masha’s office that had quickly become a favorite haunt. There he had a simple lunch with a Georgette Heyer novel for company. He was meeting Crowley for coffee, so as to avoid any pressure that a meal might create. He’d suggested a mid-afternoon meeting, one that could be easily exited with the mention of evening plans, if necessary. He’d simply said that it would be nice to catch up; if Crowley didn’t seem receptive to an apology or a sob story, Aziraphale wouldn’t give him one. Even with all of these safeguards in place, Aziraphale was incredibly nervous. 

As it had been nearly a month since Aziraphale had seen Gabriel, it had also been nearly a month since he’d shown up on Crowley’s doorstep unexpectedly. After a week or so, Tracy got tired of him telling her how guilty he felt about leaving Crowley’s flat without saying anything. She’d suggested that he reach out to Crowley, just to thank him for that night and let him know everything was fine. Aziraphale had not been expecting a response, but Crowley had sent back a message almost immediately, asking if everything was all right.

Since then there had been a few random texts -- Crowley had messaged him about a secondhand bookshop he saw on his way to work, Aziraphale had messaged him back about an Indian restaurant Tracy recommended. The texts were few and far between, and they usually consisted of one sharing something the other might like. It was a fairly unimpressive text thread, but it gave Aziraphale hope. Each time a new message arrived from Crowley, it lifted his spirits -- he hadn’t forgotten about him yet. 

Eventually he’d told Masha about the texts, and about his growing desire to see Crowley again. Though she said she wouldn’t tell him whether or not to see Crowley again, she could give him some frameworks to help him decide for himself. In the end, Aziraphale had sent the fateful text, and Crowley had agreed to the meeting, and now he was sitting in a cafe reading the same sentence over and over while he tried to plan what to say. 

No matter what he planned, though, it didn’t seem to encompass everything he wanted to express. So he set his book down and took a few deep breaths, calming himself just as Masha had taught him. All he could do was remember everything he’d learned in therapy so far, everything that had helped him to better understand himself. If he kept all of that in mind, then at least he’d know that he’d done his best.

* * * * * *

Crowley was moments away from seeing Aziraphale again, and he could feel himself sweating through his shirt. He sucked in a breath through his nose, letting it out through his mouth as he discreetly tugged his shirt away from his body a few times to fan himself. It was a cold day, this was nothing but nerves, which was really quite embarrassing. There was no call for this level of nerves around someone you’d seen naked, and who’d seen you naked.

Still, it had been more than a month since said nakedness had occurred, and rather a lot had happened in the interim. When he got that first text from Aziraphale, Crowley had stared at his phone for a full five minutes before actually viewing the message. He was petrified with hope, dread, desire, and anxiety. Hope muscled its way to the top of that emotional pile, and he’d read the text. Anathema might have told him not to respond, but Anathema wasn’t there.

Somehow, with an effort that deserved some sort of medal, Crowley had resisted texting Aziraphale every day after that. He waited to see if Aziraphale might text again, and miraculously he did. Thus began their stilted, exceedingly casual conversation. It was barely anything, it was scraps of thoughts sent here and there, but it meant a lot to Crowley. And then, suddenly, the invitation for coffee. 

Crowley glanced down at his phone and saw a message from Anathema come through: _Is he there yet? How’s it going?_

_Not yet. Sorry, don’t expect a play by play. Will let you know if I need to talk._

_Hanging out in Camden today. Ready and willing to provide distraction tonight, if necessary._

_Alcohol may be required either way. Many thx._

When Crowley set his phone down to make another sweep of the crowded cafe, he saw a tartan scarf near the door. When the figure in the scarf turned around, and Crowley saw those familiar little spectacles, something funny happened in his stomach. He stood up, his legs participating in some sort of nervous response, and he waved in Aziraphale’s direction. Eventually Aziraphale caught sight of him, and that sunshine smile bloomed across his face. 

“Hello,” he said, as he approached the table Crowley had held for them. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too,” said Crowley. He was certain that he was smiling like a fool, but he couldn’t seem to stop. They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and then Crowley gestured to the empty seat across from him. Aziraphale nodded and set his coat and scarf on the back of the chair before sitting down. 

“How’ve you been?” said Crowley.

“How are you?” said Aziraphale, their questions overlapping. 

Crowley let out a huff of nervous laughter and cleared his throat. “I’m...you first.” 

“Doing well,” said Aziraphale. “I...a lot has happened, to be sure. H-how are you?”

“All right,” said Crowley. They had to get past the required pleasantries, it just had to be done. 

“Would you like something to drink? It’s so blustery out there today, I was considering a cocoa.”

Crowley felt like flowers were blooming in his chest. He couldn’t believe Aziraphale was here, sitting across from him, talking about ordering a cocoa. It felt so normal, it felt so right. “I was gonna get an espresso, I was just waiting for you. Let me get it, though.”

“No, no,” said Aziraphale, already standing up and pushing his chair in. “I’ll take care of it, and it’ll be my treat, I insist.”

Before Crowley could argue, Aziraphale was sidling past a crowded table and making his way to the queue at the counter. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him until it was his turn to order. He set his hands on the counter and made meaningful eye contact with the barista, and Crowley could see her smiling at him. Though he paid with a card, he made sure to drop a few notes in the tip jar by the till. When he stepped over to wait for their drinks and glanced back at the table, Crowley quickly looked away, not wanting to get caught staring. 

Soon Aziraphale made his way back to the table, two cups held carefully aloft as he navigated the busy cafe. He set the espresso cup down in front of Crowley, and then took his seat with his cocoa. Crowley watched as he leaned over his cup, breathing in the sweet aroma with his eyes shut, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“So,” said Aziraphale, sitting up straight again, tugging at his waistcoat. “Er, thank you for coming. I know...well, you didn’t have to come.” 

“I wanted to,” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale caught his gaze and smiled, a little surprised. “I’m glad to hear it. I...well, mainly I wanted to apologize to you.”

“S’fine,” said Crowley, shaking his head. “You already apologized, you know, for leaving that night. I get it, it was awkward.” 

“Oh. Oh, yes, but not for that. For...for everything,” said Aziraphale. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry, Crowley, for not telling you about Gabriel from the start. And I’m sorry for making you wait for me, it was very unfair.”

Crowley blinked at him, taken aback by how quickly they’d jumped into the serious stuff. He didn’t know what he’d expected from Aziraphale, but it hadn’t been this. This wasn’t bad, though, certainly. It was just surprising, and Aziraphale must have seen that on Crowley’s face because he began to fidget with his cup of cocoa, squirming a bit in his chair. 

“I know, it’s rather a lot,” he said. “I’m sorry for that, as well. But I felt it was important to tell you this in person, rather than in a text message. Especially after...well, it was rather rude of me to, to end things over the phone.” 

“Oh, it’s...yeah, I mean,” said Crowley, stammering his way through a few unconnected syllables. “Listen. You were in an awkward position.” 

“Even so,” said Aziraphale. “I handled it badly, very badly.”

“Well. I...thanks, thanks for this. I accept. I accept the apology. Is that all right, should I say that?”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “That’s perfectly fine. I appreciate that.” 

Crowley took a few sips of his espresso, though he knew it would only make him more jittery. Maybe the caffeine would somehow cancel out his own adrenaline. It had never worked before, but there was a first time for everything. Across from him, Aziraphale took a long drink of his cocoa and hummed in appreciation, smiling to himself. Crowley was still sweating; the hot espresso wouldn’t help with that either. 

“I’ve started therapy,” said Aziraphale, as he set his cup down again. 

“Oh, yeah?” said Crowley. “That’s great. Yeah, I’ve been. Couple of times. Should probably start that up again, now you mention it.” 

“I’d never been before,” said Aziraphale. “Which is probably a massive oversight on my part, but it’s been a big help. It’s, er, it’s helped me make sense of a lot of things in the wake of...well, after leaving Gabriel.”

“Ah,” said Crowley. 

“I...I’d like to explain that, if you don’t mind,” said Aziraphale. “I understand you might not want to hear about it, so please tell me if that’s the case.” 

“Er, no, it’s fine,” said Crowley. He’d been _dying_ to know more about what happened with Gabriel, but he made sure not to let any of that eagerness show in his response. “Please, go ahead.” 

“Right, so, er, I wanted to leave quite a while ago,” said Aziraphale. “Well, you know that, of course. Or perhaps you don’t. I didn’t make it very clear that I really did want to leave him. Let me assure you, I really, truly wanted to leave.”

“No, no, I know,” said Crowley, eyes fixed on the dark abyss inside his espresso cup. “I...I suppose I knew.” 

“I appreciate you saying that, but I know I didn’t do enough to make you believe it,” said Aziraphale. Crowley glanced up and saw him shifting his cup this way and that. “In fact, I strung you along, and I’m very sorry for that.” 

Aziraphale looked up suddenly and their gazes met. Crowley gulped. “Thanks, I…thanks.” 

“I was afraid, to be perfectly honest,” said Aziraphale. “I was afraid of what might happen if I left Gabriel. I...I should have realized there was nothing to be afraid of, not after you and I had…”

Aziraphale trailed off, a stricken expression on his face. He shook his head and took a quick sip of cocoa. Crowley wondered why he’d stopped himself, if it had something to do with his therapy sessions. Crowley wanted to reach across the table, grab his hand, and tell him he understood. It was scary to set your heart on a platter and offer it to another person. He knew that well enough, though he seemed to keep doing it regardless of the obvious risks. Instead he simply nodded and had some more of his espresso. 

“In any case,” Aziraphale continued. “I left it for too long, but I did set out to actually do it that night we...well, the last night we spent together. I was all ready, I had a script written in my head. And then Gabriel...he proposed to me.” 

Crowley nearly spat espresso all across the table. He somehow managed to get control of himself enough to swallow before saying, “ _What?_ ” 

“Yes, I know,” said Aziraphale, his fingers all twisted together. “The moment didn’t exactly drip with romance, but there was something about being asked that muddled my head, I suppose. Of course it also reminded me of what we were doing, that I was...well, cheating.” 

Crowley could tell that it took some effort for Aziraphale to say that word, to admit what they’d done, but at least he’d said it. “So...something must’ve happened…?”

“Well, I...I told Gabriel about us,” said Aziraphale. “I thought I just wanted to get the guilt of it off my chest, you know, and start fresh if we were going to...to marry. Gosh, it sounds so ridiculous now to say that. Of course, my therapist has helped me to understand that I was likely sabotaging the relationship, albeit subconsciously.”

Crowley nodded some more. “And that’s when you...showed up at my flat.” 

“I’m afraid so, yes,” said Aziraphale. “I am sorry about that, only I had nowhere else to go.” 

“You said, in your texts,” said Crowley. “It’s fine, honestly. I mean, it was a bit of a surprise. But I was, you know, I was glad to have a place to offer.”

“I shouldn’t have imposed on you like that,” said Aziraphale. “But, well, I did feel safe with you.”

Crowley felt a sudden lump in his throat. No one had ever said anything like that to him before, and he felt rather exposed by it. He spent a lot of time trying to seem aloof, with his sunglasses and his chic suits. But it made him feel strangely proud that Aziraphale considered him a safe haven, somewhere to go if you needed help. He quickly stared down at his espresso, worried that Aziraphale could see all of this in his eyes. 

“So,” he said, hoping to deflect from that moment. “What have you been up to since then?” 

“Well, most importantly, I’ve broken up with Gabriel,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley could hear the pride in his voice. “It was long overdue, let me tell you. I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner, perhaps the moment I first saw you on the train.” 

Crowley could feel himself blushing, so he ducked his head to study his espresso again. It was surprisingly empty, and he was sure he’d be shaky with the caffeine high for the rest of the night. When he glanced up again, Aziraphale was looking at him with kind eyes, an expression that reminded him of their dinner at Miyama, where they’d begun to learn about each other. Was there any chance that they could start over, take another crack at it? Crowley would give just about anything for a second go-round with Aziraphale. 

“And where are you living now? Did you get your own place?” 

“I’m living above the bookshop, actually,” said Aziraphale. “I stayed with a friend, someone I work with, until I could get everything set up. Oh, it was such a laundry list -- furniture, gas, electric, you know. But it all slotted into place eventually. This is the first time I’ve ever lived on my own.”

“Really? Ever?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “First I lived with my family, obviously. I had roommates all through uni, and then I lived with boyfriends, all the way up until Gabriel. I know, it’s absurd that a grown man has never lived on his own.” 

“S’not absurd.” said Crowley. “S’nice that you’ve...you’ve always had places to be.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked up to him. “They weren’t always nice places.” 

“No. No, ‘course not,” said Crowley, quickly correcting himself.

“It’s all right, I know what you mean,” said Aziraphale. “All the same, it’s been rather a welcome change to have some solitude. Especially after the close quarters at my friend’s flat.” 

“Sure, I bet.”

“What have you been up to? How have you been, really?” 

Crowley was surprised at the question and rather embarrassed that his answer could be summed up with “getting over you.” But Aziraphale had been so open with him about what had happened with Gabriel, and about the fact that he was in therapy. He felt he owed him an honest response, and so he took a deep breath and dove in headfirst.

“Right, so, this is gonna sound like I’m trying to make you feel bad, but I promise I’m not. I just want to be honest with you, ‘cause you’ve been honest with me. I’ve just sort of been digging my way out from under some feelings. I should be in therapy, you’ve got the right idea there, but my friend Anathema has been helping me out.”

Aziraphale looked a bit surprised to hear all this, but he simply nodded. “I’m glad you’ve had someone to talk to.” 

“Because, I know we were only together for a short time, but I...I guess I got carried away. I do that sometimes, in relationships,” said Crowley, pressing on now that the dam had burst. “I cared about you...quite a bit. And yeah, you’re right, I had trouble believing you’d actually leave Gabriel. And...I was really worried about you.” 

Aziraphale’s expression softened. “I know you were. That’s part of what made me feel so safe.”

“I’m glad you felt safe,” said Crowley. “Anathema thinks I have a thing about trying to save people or some shit, but I just wanted to help you. Anyway, I’m doing better now. Just taking it one day at a time.” 

“That’s good,” he said. “It’s good to put in the work. I’m glad you’re...you’re letting go of it all.” 

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale nodded back, and he got the feeling they were both on the same secret wavelength. But he wanted to be sure before he made a fool of himself.

“And have you...have you let go of it?” Aziraphale asked. He was smiling, sort of, but his heart wasn’t in it. 

Crowley was about to give in, and he knew he was moving quickly already. But the conversation had been fruitful, he thought. There had been meaningful, honest apologies, and they’d said a lot of things they hadn’t said before. Aziraphale was no longer with Gabriel, and he seemed to be committed to being more honest with himself. Crowley had never had a partner make this much of an effort to make amends for the shitty things they’d done. With all this in mind, he made a choice. 

“Not even a little bit,” he said. 

“Oh, good,” said Aziraphale, and then he caught himself. “I mean, not good. I mean, healing is very important --” 

“Aziraphale,” said Crowley, smiling as he cut him off. “Could we maybe start over? Get a drink or something?”

Now Aziraphale smiled for real, a great big sunshine-y smile that made Crowley think of the fluorescent lighting on the tube. “I’d like that very much.”

* * * * * *

At the sound of his alarm clock, Aziraphale groaned and reflexively hit the snooze button. Then he remembered that he had a date with Crowley that night, and he was suddenly wide awake.

They’d started off slow -- drinks at a wine bar. Crowley smiled a lot, which Aziraphale found very endearing. When they went their separate ways, Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s hand as though they were in a regency romance novel, and Aziraphale swore his heart actually fluttered. The next night they found themselves at the Indian restaurant Aziraphale had texted Crowley about weeks earlier. After that, they each made it clear that they wanted things to continue. 

Their second first kiss happened on the doorstep of Aziraphale’s bookshop. They’d gone to a sushi restaurant in Soho, and Crowley had walked him home, their arms linked together. They stood at the door, each of them awkwardly playing for time, until Aziraphale had leaned in close and pressed his lips to Crowley’s. He’d felt Crowley’s arms encircle him, and suddenly the chill of the night was gone.

“This is so lovely,” Aziraphale whispered to him. “You’re so lovely.” 

Crowley had simply nodded and pulled him close, nuzzling their noses together, sharing space and warmth. They stood there for an absurdly long time. 

Sometimes Aziraphale wasn’t in the mood to go out, and he felt able to tell Crowley that. He never felt as though turning down a date with Crowley would make things awkward. It was nice to have time to himself, evenings spent in the quiet of his new sitting room with a book and a cup of tea. One Saturday afternoon he invited Crowley to the shop, to see how he’d set everything up. Crowley bent at the waist to examine his books, admired his collection of mugs, and kissed him on the sofa where they’d once made love.

Free from the confines of a risky affair, Aziraphale endeavored to meet Crowley during the day as often as possible. Evening dates were still easiest, given that they both had nine-to-five jobs, but there were also book shopping jaunts at the weekend and lunchtime rendezvous when they could manage it. The best thing of all was no longer having the train dictate their meetings. If Aziraphale wanted to see Crowley, he simply texted him, and the freedom of that was exhilarating. 

On this particular Friday, Crowley had invited Aziraphale to his flat for dinner. Though Aziraphale had felt nervous about it at first -- returning to the scene of the crime, as it were -- their dates had been going so well, and soon he simply felt excited. Work was busy, and five o’clock found Aziraphale reviewing some new manuscript submissions. At five-thirty, Crowley texted that he was leaving work, and that Aziraphale could head over whenever. Aziraphale gave it ten more minutes, and then tidied his desk for the weekend. 

“Hello, my dear,” he said, leaning in to kiss Crowley when he opened the door to his flat. “How was work today?” 

“Ugh, nothing to write home about,” said Crowley. “Take your coat?” 

“I know where it goes,” said Aziraphale, with a cheeky smile. 

Aziraphale hung his coat in the closet, feeling a wave of deja vu as he did so. As he backed out and shut the door, he backed straight into Crowley’s embrace. Crowley leaned into him and laid gentle kisses along the back of his neck. Aziraphale set his hands on Crowley’s, which were pressed to his belly, and felt his face go hot. 

“What’s all this about?” he asked, smiling to himself. 

“This is what I wanted,” said Crowley, his breath warm against Aziraphale’s skin. “This is what I hoped for...you coming over for dinner, hanging your coat in my closet.” 

“Oh, my dear.” 

“Tell me if I’m moving too fast, please.” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not at all. I wanted this, too.”

Crowley sighed against his neck, gave him a squeeze, and then let him loose. Aziraphale turned and kissed him gently, one hand trailing along his jaw. When he pulled back and saw the longing in Crowley’s eyes, he knew he wanted to make love to him that night. They hadn’t yet crossed that line, out of deference to some unspoken boundary between them. But they’d been moving closer to it ever since that second first kiss, with lingering touches and deeper kisses each time they were together. If Crowley was amenable, Aziraphale hoped it might happen that night. 

In the kitchen, Crowley was browning chicken for a tagine. Aziraphale wanted to help, but Crowley insisted that he had everything prepped and could handle it. So Aziraphale leaned against Crowley’s large, chrome refrigerator and watched him moving deftly about the small kitchen. His movements were practiced, his hands sure, as he stirred and chopped and tasted along the way. 

“Where did you learn to cook?” Aziraphale asked.

“Nowhere, really,” said Crowley. He poured broth into the pan and it gave off a satisfying sizzle. “Spent a few years on my own...had to eat something.” 

“Some might rely on takeaways,” said Aziraphale. “I speak from experience.” 

“Oh, I know.” Crowley shot him a teasing grin over his shoulder and added some honey to his pan. “I dunno, I got bored.” 

“You do it all so well, my dear. Whenever I find myself in the kitchen, it’s as though all my fingers have turned into thumbs.”

“I could teach you. We’d start off slow,” said Crowley. “Boiling water, maybe.” 

“Oh, now, really,” said Aziraphale, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “I can boil things. How else would I make cocoa?” 

Crowley laughed, head thrown back and a big grin on his face. “Ah, right. Well, don’t worry. I don’t mind doing all the cooking.” 

That felt like something of a promise, but Aziraphale’s first instinct was to push aside that feeling. Surely, said his brain, that was just an offhand remark. This may not be permanent, Crowley may yet grow tired of you, things might still sour. But then he remembered that moment by the closet, and he let himself indulge in thoughts of a shared future.

The tagine was delicious, and Aziraphale enjoyed the way Crowley blushed when he complimented his cooking. A moan or two escaped him as he savored the perfectly tender and expertly seasoned chicken, and he didn’t miss the way Crowley watched him as he ate. By the time they’d finished, Crowley seemed a bit tightly wound. He insisted on clearing everything away, telling Aziraphale to make himself comfortable in the meantime. So, sensing that Crowley needed some time, Aziraphale wandered into the sitting room to admire the plants. 

When Crowley reappeared, patting damp hands against the front of his trousers, Aziraphale was admiring the view from his bay windows. Crowley came to stand beside him, wrapping one arm around his waist and pulling him close. 

“I very much enjoyed dinner,” said Aziraphale, leaning toward him. 

“Yeah, I figured,” said Crowley. “Something about the moaning tipped me off.” 

Aziraphale felt himself blush. “Well, I got the impression you rather liked that.” 

Crowley chuckled softly. “You know, I do. I’ve got some pastries for dessert. For later, if you want. I didn’t make them, though. I guess I need to practice my baking skills now.” 

Aziraphale smiled and turned to face Crowley. “Dessert would be lovely, my dear, but not just yet. I want to take my time this evening because I have _nowhere else_ to be.”

Crowley blinked at him, as though he was just realizing this as well. Then he smiled, and his hands came up to Aziraphale’s shoulders. “God, you’re right.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d like to be, either,” said Aziraphale. He leaned in and kissed Crowley, who tilted his head and responded rather enthusiastically. “In fact, I could...why, I could spend the night.” 

“Oh?” said Crowley, trying to sound casual. “Is that...would you like to?” 

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale, against his lips. “I do believe I would. Would you like me to?”

“Yes,” said Crowley, one hand on the back of Aziraphale’s head now as he deepened their kiss further. “Yeah, I really would.” 

“I’m so glad to hear it,” said Aziraphale. He ran his hands down Crowley’s sides and settled them on his hips, squeezing slightly. Crowley gasped against his mouth and pressed closer, chasing another kiss. Crowley tasted of spice and smoke, and Aziraphale wanted more no matter how much he had.

“Just to be clear,” Crowley breathed, pulling back for a moment. “Are we...do you want to…?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. He gently brushed Crowley’s hair back from his face. “I want to make love to you.” 

Crowley’s gaze softened, and he brought his hands up to Aziraphale’s face. “Oh, angel. I thought I’d never hear you say that again.” 

“I thought I’d never get the chance again,” said Aziraphale. He was not going to cry. He absolutely, positively was not going to cry, but hearing that endearment again was almost too much. He leaned in for another kiss, and Crowley’s hands slid down to his throat, his thumbs stroking the skin beneath his ears. 

When they broke apart, Crowley took hold of Aziraphale’s hands and brought them both up to his lips, kissing along his knuckles. Aziraphale drew in a shaky breath at the sight of Crowley, with his eyes shut and his lips pursed against his skin. He looked worshipful, as though Aziraphale were something precious to behold. In that moment, all the tension left his body, and he felt more safe and secure than he ever had before. 

“C’mon,” said Crowley. He kept hold of one of Aziraphale’s hands and led him to the bedroom. 

The bedroom was dark, but Crowley flicked on the light as they entered. He turned to face Aziraphale with a smile on his face, a hungry look in his eyes. “I want to see you.”

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his chest as Crowley pulled him into another kiss, his tongue pressing past his lips. As Crowley’s teeth tugged at Aziraphale’s bottom lip, his long fingers tugged at the fabric of his bowtie. Aziraphale felt completely disarmed by these ministrations, a familiar heat already gathering low in his abdomen. Crowley’s hands crept beneath the hem of Aziraphale’s jumper, and he hummed in appreciation as his fingers spread across the swell of his belly.

“Love these jumpers,” said Crowley, dropping his head to Aziraphale’s shoulder and nuzzling against the soft knit. “They make you so cuddly.” 

Aziraphale let out a nervous laugh. “Is that a good thing?” 

“Mmm, very,” said Crowley, turning his head to kiss Aziraphale’s neck. “Makes me want to wrap myself around you and never let go.”

“Oh...oh my,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley straightened up and looked at Aziraphale, his hands still under his jumper. “Are you sure this is what you want? We’re not moving too quickly?” 

“My dear,” said Aziraphale, gazing at him. “This is absolutely what I want. I’ve missed you so much, and I want to be close to you again, I want to feel you again.” 

In response, Crowley nodded emphatically and kissed him, sloppy and insistent. Aziraphale moaned against his mouth, fingers finding the buttons of his shirt. He paused so that Crowley could pull his jumper up over his head, but he still had his spectacles on and they got lost somewhere in the shuffle. There was an awkward bit of fumbling, and then they both dissolved into giggles as Crowley searched for the glasses in the sweater, finally shaking it so they dropped to the floor. Aziraphale ducked down to rescue them from getting stepped on, and when he came back up Crowley was clutching his stomach, still giggling. 

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale, through his own laughter. “Have we...have we ruined the mood?”

“Not at all,” said Crowley, wiping tears from his eyes. “Fuck, I dunno when I last laughed that hard.”

“The perils of eyewear,” said Aziraphale, stepping away to place the bothersome spectacles on Crowley’s nightstand. “Would you like to bring your sunglasses in here? We’ll see what other mischief we can get up to.” 

“No, no,” said Crowley, his laughter dying down. “Jesus...m’not gonna let some silly spectacles stop me from fucking you.” 

“You find my spectacles silly?” Aziraphale teased as he continued unbuttoning Crowley’s shirt.

“Actually, no,” said Crowley. “I find them incredibly sexy.”

“Mmm, why, thank you,” said Aziraphale. He pressed his lips to Crowley’s neck, sucking gently at the skin over his thundering pulse. Crowley moaned and clutched at him as he moved down, mouthing along his collarbones, tongue dipping into the hollow of his throat. 

“Right, these clothes have got to go,” Crowley declared, setting to work on Aziraphale’s buttons. 

Layer by layer, they explored each other anew, pressing kisses here and letting hands wander there. Aziraphale kissed his way down Crowley’s chest, down to the trail of red hair that tapered off into his trousers. He knelt to pull his trousers down and mouthed over the growing bulge in Crowley’s black briefs, gratified by the way Crowley’s hips jerked forward. Then he pulled Aziraphale back up, hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it away along with his braces. Crowley pushed up his undershirt and knelt to kiss his soft belly, to dig his fingers into his love handles. One day Aziraphale might get used to the way Crowley loved his body, but for now it still made his chest ache. 

Slowly, they made their way to the bed, in no rush to finish this portion of the evening. Aziraphale backed Crowley up against the edge of the mattress and wrenched his undershirt over his head. In amongst slow, languorous kisses, Crowley helped Aziraphale out of his trousers, and they each shucked their pants, kicking them away. With his eyes trained on Crowley’s face, Aziraphale reached down and took them both in hand. He admired the way Crowley’s eyes fell shut and his mouth fell open, a shiver of pleasure coursing through him as he settled his hands on Aziraphale’s back. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’d...hng...you’d better stop. I could come just from this.”

“I’d like to see that,” said Aziraphale, kissing along Crowley’s jaw. But then he felt it as well, the slide and press of their cocks sending a jolt up his spine. “Right...do you still have those supplies?”

Crowley nodded and kissed Aziraphale just enough to make him loosen his grip. Then he slipped away and crawled across the bed, reaching into a drawer on the far side. Aziraphale climbed onto the bed to follow him, admiring his arse and his lean thighs. When Crowley turned, condom and lube in hand, Aziraphale gently knocked him onto his back, his knees either side of Crowley’s hips. He leaned down to kiss him, the sound of Crowley’s moans going straight to his cock. 

“All right?” he said, feeling a bit cheeky when he pulled back.

“Oh, very much so,” said Crowley, grinning up at him. 

“How are your hips?” Aziraphale asked, dragging one hand through Crowley’s hair.

“It’s a good day, I’ll be fine,” said Crowley. 

“You’ll tell me if that changes?”

“I’ll tell you.” 

Aziraphale nodded and settled back onto his knees. He warmed some lube between his fingers and Crowley lifted his legs up onto Aziraphale’s shoulders. Then Aziraphale leaned forward again, kissing Crowley as he pressed one finger into him. Crowley breathed deeply, letting out little grunts and moans as Aziraphale worked him open. When he asked for more, Aziraphale added a second finger, and he found that special spot in record time. Crowley’s hips jumped off the bed, a deep moan wrenched from his chest. 

“My dear, you’re so beautiful,” said Aziraphale, trailing his free hand along Crowley’s cheek.

“No, you,” said Crowley, squirming beneath him. 

Aziraphale chuckled and kissed him, carefully scissoring his fingers to open him further. Soon Crowley had that glazed, blissed-out look in his eyes, and it was the most wonderful thing Aziraphale had ever seen. He ran his thumb along Crowley’s bottom lip and asked, “Are you ready for me, love?” 

Crowley nodded, his tongue darting out to lick at Aziraphale’s thumb. “Mmm, please.” 

Aziraphale put on the condom and slicked himself up. With Crowley’s legs still resting on his shoulders, he shifted into place and pushed in, pleased with the sound that Crowley made. He moaned as he thrust in further, bottoming out and muttering a curse. He paused for a moment, overwhelmed by the feeling of Crowley surrounding him so fully. 

“All right, angel?” said Crowley, sounding a bit breathless. 

“Oh, I’m more than all right,” said Aziraphale. “I...I thought I’d lost my chance at this. I thought I’d lost _you_. My dear…”

Aziraphale moved, then, and Crowley was reduced to moans and breathy attempts at Aziraphale’s name. His eyes fell shut as wave after wave of pleasure hit him, but he forced them back open, wanting to see Crowley. The man’s red hair was a mess from all their foreplay, his face flushed and his eyebrows drawn together. Aziraphale leaned down to kiss his swollen lips, tasting him as he quickened the pace of his hips. 

“Harder,” Crowley moaned. “Want to feel you everywhere. Want to feel you in the morning.” 

The force of Crowley’s desire for him struck Aziraphale squarely in the chest. Crowley had been making it known that he wanted him, with wide eyes and flushed cheeks when Aziraphale moaned over food, with a hand squeezing at his waist as they walked down the street. But in bed it was different; here Crowley showed his desire through growled words and helpless moans. Here it was so intimate, so palpable, and Aziraphale had forgotten how it made him feel. Now he lost himself in it, thrusting harder and harder into Crowley, thrilling at the way Crowley pushed his head back against the bed, teeth biting into his lower lip.

“You feel so good, darling,” said Aziraphale, hands roaming over Crowley’s chest, tweaking his nipples. “Oh, you’re so wonderful.”

“Hnng,” said Crowley, angling his hips up to meet Aziraphale’s thrusts. “Fuck, this is...can’t believe...c-can we try something?” 

“Anything, my dear.” 

Crowley took a few deep breaths, seemingly trying to get himself under control. “Right. Lean back, and try to pull me up.”

Aziraphale, who had never been one for bedroom acrobatics, tipped backward carefully, hands clasped around Crowley’s wrists to help him up. As Aziraphale settled onto his back, Crowley came up onto his knees and shifted his hips. With his hands braced on Aziraphale’s chest, he began to move up and down on his cock. Aziraphale reached out, hands hovering at Crowley’s waist in case his hips started to give him trouble. 

“How’s that?” said Crowley, grinning down at him. “Hmm? How does that feel?” 

“W-was I doing something wrong?” Aziraphale asked, insecurity niggling at his brain.

“No,” said Crowley, quick to reassure. “No, you felt so fucking good. I just...I want to put on a show for you. Lie back and watch me, angel.” 

Aziraphale certainly didn’t need to be told twice, not with Crowley’s lithe and subtly muscular form looming over him. Crowley clenched around him and moved faster and faster, up and down as much as his hips would allow. He only faltered when Aziraphale shifted, changing the angle and hitting that spot hidden deep inside him. Crowley moaned and doubled over, then regained his pace. His own cock was dripping, hard and curling up toward his stomach, and Aziraphale wanted to reach out to touch him. But Crowley got there first, making a show of getting himself off as he fucked Aziraphale.

“This is...Crowley, you’re so...you’re absolutely gorgeous,” said Aziraphale, finding it hard to catch his breath as Crowley continued to move and moan and stroke himself. 

“You’re beautiful,” Crowley responded. “You’re so...look what you do to me. Can’t believe...fuck...Aziraphale, I --” 

Crowley stopped short, gasping as he came suddenly. Aziraphale watched the pleasure move through his body, his muscles spasming and tightening around him, pushing him closer to his own climax. Aziraphale thrust up into him, spiralling into incoherent moans as he tipped over the edge, arching his back up off the bed. Crowley leaned down to kiss him through it, murmuring sweet nothings into his skin. 

“I...I’ve never felt like that in bed before,” said Aziraphale. He moaned softly as orgasmic aftershocks ran through him, making his toes tingle. “You do things to me, Crowley.”

“Mmm, I’d like to do things to you again tomorrow. And the day after that,” said Crowley. He lifted off him carefully and removed the condom from his softening cock. Then he kissed his right hip, his belly button, his breastbone. Aziraphale watched as he slid off the bed and shuffled off to the bathroom.

He could hear the water running, and then the quiet of the flat settled around him. He shut his eyes for a moment, and then suddenly Crowley was back, kneeling on the bed and rubbing a washcloth gently against Aziraphale’s stomach.

“Got a bit enthusiastic at the end there,” said Crowley, when Aziraphale gave him a questioning look. “There was a bit of...overflow.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I didn’t notice, I was rather preoccupied with how wonderful you were making me feel.” 

Crowley’s eyes darted to meet his, and he opened his mouth as if to say something. Then he shut it again, tossed the washcloth away, and settled next to Aziraphale on the bed. He laid on his side, one arm draped across Aziraphale’s belly. Crowley kissed his cheek and pressed his lips to the shell of his ear.

“I love you,” said Crowley, so quietly that Aziraphale almost didn’t hear it. But he caught the soft words and turned to look at him. Crowley met his gaze and reached up to stroke his hair. “I know, it’s soon. But it’s also way overdue.”

Aziraphale nodded, taking a moment for the lump in his throat to lessen. “I quite agree. I wanted to say it so many times...every time you were kind to me, when you cooked for me, when you made me feel desirable like no one ever has.” 

Crowley continued playing with his hair. “D’you want to say it now?” 

“Yes! Oh, God, yes,” said Aziraphale, covering his face with both hands. When he lowered them, he saw Crowley’s sweet and hopeful face. “I love you, Crowley. So very much.” 

Crowley’s bottom lip trembled a bit, then he closed the distance between them and kissed Aziraphale, soft and slow. It was rather a perfect moment, Aziraphale thought. A pleasant post-coital afterglow had loosened all his limbs, and Crowley’s tongue slid across his, coaxing moans from deep in his chest. On top of everything, there were pastries somewhere in Crowley’s kitchen. 

“God, I can’t believe you’re spending the night,” said Crowley, snuggling in close when they broke apart. “It’s...I have no words.”

Something sparked somewhere in Aziraphale’s brain. “Would you say it’s ineffable?” 

“What?” 

“Ineffable. You know, beyond description.”

Crowley hesitated, then, “Use it in a sentence.” 

“Our lovemaking just now was utterly ineffable.” 

“Well, I dunno about that. I think I could describe it pretty well.” 

“All right, shush,” said Aziraphale. “I’ve always wanted to use the word ‘ineffable,’ just let me have it.” 

Crowley snorted and pressed closer, nosing at Aziraphale’s soft jawline. “Whatever you want, angel.” 

Aziraphale considered bringing up the pastries then, for the sake of comic timing, but the moment felt rather perfect as it was. He let his eyes drift shut as Crowley nuzzled his face in the crook of his neck. If Aziraphale had dared to allow himself a bit of hope all those weeks ago, this is exactly what he would have hoped for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go! I know this was a long one...what can I say? Sex scenes really increase my word count. I hope you found this a fitting reunion for them. Thank you, as always, for your support and lovely comments. I so appreciate you reading and leaving feedback! <33


	12. press you to the pages of my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tenderness, holidays, and a surprise.

Christmas was not Crowley’s favorite time of year. Sure, he liked having some time off work, but he didn’t love the ever-present music and decorations, and he had no religious connection to the holiday. Though he had nothing against being kind to your fellow humans, he wasn’t sure why a specific time of year had to be carved out and over-commercialized for that. In general, he was far more fond of the spring, when flowers began to show their faces again and everything became green and pleasant. 

It might be questioned, then, why he found himself getting ready for a Christmas party. The answer was very simple, and it had everything to do with the man shaving in the en suite. 

“You’re sure? You’re sure this looks okay?” 

“My dear, it complements your hair perfectly,” Aziraphale called from the bathroom. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of color in one’s wardrobe.” 

Crowley grumbled and turned this way and that in front of the mirror, examining himself from all possible angles. He had to admit that the green shirt did look rather nice, and the green was so dark that it could even be mistaken for black. It felt out of character for him, and he knew that Aziraphale wouldn’t bat an eye if he wanted to change it. But he wanted to make the effort, even when it rubbed up against certain mechanisms he’d had in place for many years. 

After it became clear that he’d got his second chance, that he and Aziraphale had managed to find each other again, Crowley had dug out the business card of the last therapist he’d seen. Emily was glad to hear from him, and she’d had an open slot in her schedule that week, so Crowley resumed what seemed to be an endless conversation about himself. They’d talked about his tendency to leap in with both feet and then run away from what he’d chosen, trying to avoid pain that he saw as inevitable. He didn’t want to do that with Aziraphale, he didn’t want his subconscious nonsense to ruin this.

There were times when false alarms rang in Crowley’s head, telling him that it was time to run before things had a chance to explode. When that happened, he called Emily, and together they unraveled his brain. Then, rather than call Aziraphale and say something stupid that he’d regret later, Crowley typed thoughts out into his notes app to clear his head. Then he had dinner with Aziraphale, and he allowed himself that happiness. 

So, yes, the green shirt felt a bit odd. In the past he might’ve changed without consulting his partner and stoked the flames of a tiff. He would have seen it as predictable, he would have felt persecuted, and he would have used it all as an excuse to run. But this was for Aziraphale’s Christmas party, and Crowley wanted him to know that he was all in. 

Crowley pulled back one cuff of the troublesome shirt and glanced at his watch. Then he installed himself in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Aziraphale as he made careful, measured strokes with his razor. He was wearing his best gray trousers and a snug white undershirt, braces hanging down along his legs. Crowley wanted to hug him, and he did as soon as Aziraphale had finished and rinsed his face, sidling up behind him and wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s middle. 

“You look amazing already,” he said, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes in the mirror. “Can’t wait to see this Christmas ensemble you keep going on about.” 

Aziraphale smiled at him, setting down the flannel he’d used to dry his face. Then he turned in Crowley’s embrace, fingers trailing down his arm. “You know I won’t make you wear this shirt, right? I never want to force you into anything.” 

“Nah, I’m choosing it,” said Crowley. “I can be Christmas-y, just watch me.”

Aziraphale kissed him, and Crowley got momentarily lost in the smell of his aftershave. “Thank you. Now I’m off to assemble the rest of my ensemble.” 

“I’ll lurk in here,” said Crowley. “Let me know when it’s time for the big reveal.” 

Aziraphale gave him a cheeky grin and then disappeared into the bedroom. Crowley gave himself another once-over in the mirror and tousled his hair a bit more artfully. He swung open the cabinet hanging on the wall, where his eye drops and hair gel stood beside Aziraphale’s aftershave and cologne. His pain meds were missing, still sitting in his overnight bag by the bed. Crowley had been spending a lot of time in the flat over the bookshop, but they weren’t living together just yet. Neither of them wanted to rush anything, but it did make Crowley’s stomach squirm pleasantly to see their belongings mingled together. 

“I’m all set, my dear,” Aziraphale called, eventually. “Would you like to see?” 

Crowley shut the cabinet and caught his own lovesick expression reflected back at him. He shook his head at himself and went into the bedroom. Aziraphale was standing at his bureau, fiddling with something. When he heard Crowley come in, he turned and spread his arms out, and Crowley saw that he’d been affixing a pocket watch to his waistcoat.

“Ta-da!” said Aziraphale. “I know this is rather eccentric, but try to remember that you like my eccentric taste in clothes.” 

Aziraphale was wearing a deep burgundy dress shirt tucked into his trousers, topped with an evergreen waistcoat decorated in a brocade pattern of curling vines and holly leaves. A silver pocket watch was tucked into his waistcoat pocket, the chain visible as it trailed to one of his button holes. His bowtie was a slightly lighter shade of green that complemented his waistcoat. Crowley could see he was wearing dark green socks with his shiny black wingtips.

“Eccentric? You look incredible,” said Crowley. “I’m gonna look a bit plain next to you, let’s be honest.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Aziraphale, with a wave of his hand. “You’re very, very handsome.” 

Crowley, still a bit bashful about being complimented so often, shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “So. Anything I need to know about Tracy before I meet her?” 

“Nothing that I can think of.” Aziraphale tugged at his waistcoat, and then paused and looked at Crowley. “Actually, do you have any strong feelings about tarot cards?” 

“Well, I don’t really put any stock in them. But Anathema’s read my cards a couple of times, so I know a little bit about them.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, that should do nicely. The more I hear about Anathema, the more I think she needs to meet Tracy at some point. We should have a dinner party or something.” 

A dinner party sounded nice, and Crowley wished that was their plan for the evening. But Aziraphale told him that he never missed his company Christmas party, not least of all because the catering was always superb, so Crowley was steeling himself to meet lots of coworkers who had only known Aziraphale when he was with Gabriel. And yeah, Gabriel was an absolute dickhead, but he did look quite nice in a suit, in a generically handsome way. Crowley couldn’t help but worry about how much he tended to resemble a stick insect.

They caught the tube at Tottenham and stood together for the ride into central London. This was not the first time they’d rode the train since getting back together, but it always reminded Crowley of their humble beginnings. Now he reached out to take Aziraphale’s hand with the hand that wasn’t grasping the overhead bar. Aziraphale smiled fondly at him and bumped their shoulders together. It was the kind of casual intimacy that Crowley reveled in, and it helped calm him for the evening ahead. 

The company Christmas party was being held in a large restaurant space at the top of the building that housed Aziraphale’s office. As they made their way up in the lift, Crowley found himself wishing he could see where Aziraphale actually worked. But he supposed there was plenty of time for that; maybe he’d see his office if he picked him up for lunch one day. 

Aziraphale had told him that the publishing industry knew how to throw a party, but Crowley was still a bit gobsmacked as they walked in. Garland hung from the ceiling, large wreaths adorned the walls, and an enormous Christmas tree stood near one of the windows, poised and ready for couple photos. At first glance, Crowley could see what Aziraphale meant about the catering spread. After they’d visited the coat check, he turned to Aziraphale, about to suggest that they grab some nibbles, when a woman with red-orange hair came scurrying up to them.

“Hello, hello,” she said, bypassing Aziraphale and giving Crowley a once-over. “Am I correct in thinking that you’re the famous Crowley?” 

“Skrk,” was all that Crowley could manage, flustered at being referred to as famous. 

“Well, now, who else would I bring, Tracy? I ask you,” said Aziraphale. “This is Crowley, of course. Crowley, this is Tracy, the madwoman I’ve been telling you about.” 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Tracy, batting her false eyelashes. “Aziraphale’s told me so much about you, and let me just say, you already live up to the hype.” 

Crowley grinned to cover up his nerves and stuck out his hand in what he hoped was a casually suave manner. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too. Mostly about how lovely you’ve been to Aziraphale.”

“Oh, he’s easy to be lovely to,” said Tracy, a sentiment with which Crowley wholeheartedly agreed. “I thoroughly enjoyed having him as a house guest, though I think he got a bit fed up with me and my Shadwell near the end.”

“Not at all, Tracy,” said Aziraphale, but Crowley could see his ears getting a bit red. “Your flat was perfectly wonderful, and you were ever so kind to let me stay there. We shan’t say another word about it until I’ve had a chance to peruse the biscuits. Please excuse me.” 

Crowley opened his mouth to say he’d come with, but Tracy had already looped her arm into his and was strolling in the opposite direction. He had no choice but to follow her, casting a wistful glance back toward Aziraphale as he went.

“Thank _goodness_ for you, Crowley,” said Tracy, as they walked. “I’ve known you for all of three minutes, but I can already see Aziraphale’s right about you. And thank goodness he found you, I mean that. Tell me, did you ever meet Gabriel?”

“Er, yeah,” said Crowley. Aziraphale had told him about Tracy’s opinion of Gabriel, but he still cast a glance down at her for confirmation. When she gave him a sympathetic look, he decided it was safe. “Pretty awful, if I’m honest.”

“The absolute bloody worst!” said Tracy. “I’m not one to tell people how to live their lives, so I never told Aziraphale outright that he should leave him, but by God I did my best to hint at it. It never seemed to make a lick of difference until he met you.”

“Ah, I don’t know what to say,” said Crowley, chuckling. “I didn’t set out to break anyone up.” 

“No, of course not. But you did, and that’s all that matters,” said Tracy, with a wink. “Listen, I just want you to know that you’re in my good books because you’ve made Aziraphale happy and you’ve ensured that I never have to speak with that American stuffed shirt again. But if you ever do anything to hurt him, be warned that I have certain...powers that could make your life a living Hell.” 

Crowley stared at her, now completely convinced of Aziraphale’s assertion that Anathema and Tracy should meet. “Consider me warned. And, listen, I know talk is cheap, but I can promise you I won’t hurt Aziraphale. Not ever.” 

Tracy smiled at him and squeezed his arm. “Call me crazy, but I believe you. Oh, and I’m sorry for ever calling you Slenderman.” 

Crowley nodded, about to assure Tracy that it was fine, but then he realized that what she’d said made no sense at all. “What?” 

“Oh, nevermind,” said Tracy, as they approached a disheveled man in a vaguely military jacket. “Hoo-ee, Shadwell! This is Crowley, Aziraphale’s new young man.”

Shadwell eyed him for a moment, then leaned in conspiratorially. “How many nipples have ye got?”

“I...what?” 

“Nipples,” said Shadwell, perhaps too loudly for a Christmas party. “How many have ye got?” 

“Well, it’s a hell of an icebreaker, I’ll give you that,” said Crowley. “Just the two.” 

Shadwell flashed him a thumbs up. “Grand, that’s grand.” 

Crowley was in the midst of contemplating how one should carry on a conversation that began with a question about nipples when Aziraphale mercifully returned from the buffet table. He was carrying a paper plate that was positively bowing beneath the weight of colorfully iced biscuits and looking rather pleased with himself. 

“There are some really scrummy things wrapped in bacon over there, but I can never resist the desserts table,” he said, coming to stand next to Crowley. “Are you well, Mr. Shadwell?”

“Aye,” said Shadwell, giving Aziraphale a mock salute. 

“Splendid, it’s lovely to see you,” said Aziraphale. “Now, what have you all been chatting about?”

Crowley wasn’t sure what exactly caused it, but at that very moment his heart seemed to spill over with uncontrollable affection for Aziraphale. He stepped closer to him, snaked one arm around his waist and leaned in to kiss his cheek. Aziraphale turned to look at him, his cheeks a bit pink and his eyes wide with a pleased sort of surprise. Crowley was struck by the unbelievable fact that he’d be going home with this delightful man. 

“Well, this, actually,” said Tracy, gesturing to the two of them with a chuckle. “Aziraphale, I already had a good feeling about him based on the cards, but now I’m absolutely sure. The two of you have my blessing.” 

“The cards, eh?” said Crowley. “Would that be the tarot? I’ve got a friend who’s into all that stuff, and I think the two of you should meet.” 

“Oh, lovely,” said Tracy, grinning at him. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, especially if they know their tarot.” 

After that, Crowley’s nerves disappeared. He stayed close to Aziraphale, whose eyes twinkled in the glow of all the Christmas lights in the room. Together they sampled as many of the appetizers as they could stomach, and Aziraphale showed him how to construct a makeshift bag out of napkins for smuggling biscuits home. Though his sweet tooth was not as developed as Aziraphale’s, Crowley had to admit the biscuits were well worth smuggling. They posed for a picture by the Christmas tree, and Crowley met everyone on Aziraphale’s team. Many glasses of champagne were had, and they were both a bit tipsy by the time they left the party.

On the train ride home, they leaned against each other, sharing warmth. Aziraphale smelled of biscuit icing underneath his cologne, and Crowley thought he was good enough to eat. When Aziraphale giggled, Crowley realized he’d said that out loud.

“Wait until we’re home, my dear,” said Aziraphale. 

“If you insist. Hey, Tracy apologized for calling me Slenderman. You know anything about that?” 

This made Aziraphale collapse further into giggles. He covered his mouth and his shoulders shook with laughter. “Oh...oh, dear. I’d completely forgotten about that, I’m afraid. You see, before I knew you -- properly knew you -- that was sort of Tracy’s code word for you.”

Crowley smirked at him. “You talked about me at work?” 

“Once or twice, perhaps,” said Aziraphale. 

“I talked about you, too,” said Crowley, resting his head against Aziraphale’s. “I called you ‘Snappy Dresser,’ which is a hell of a lot nicer than Slenderman, but we won’t get into that.”

“Snappy Dresser,” said Aziraphale, with another giggle. “My dear, I’m flattered. And I didn’t call you Slenderman, I simply said you were _trim,_ and Tracy took it from there.” 

“Ah,” said Crowley. “D’you...like my trimness?” 

“Of course I do,” said Aziraphale, incredulous at the question. “I’d love you no matter what shape you were.”

Crowley turned his head to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek and came up against rather a lot of scarf. Unabashed, he said, “I love your shape. Any shape you have has gotta be a good one because...you have it.”

Aziraphale snorted. “Yes, well, I think we left the party at just the right time. No one there could have possibly handled these philosophical discussions we’re having.” 

Back at the bookshop, as soon as they’d slipped in through the front door, Crowley crowded Aziraphale up against it and snogged him. His head was buzzing with champagne, and he pretended not to hear Aziraphale’s worries about what his neighbors might think. He could barely hear them anyway through the man’s giddy giggles. Somehow they made it upstairs and tumbled into bed, with just enough energy to fool around a bit before falling asleep in their party clothes.

* * * * * *

Though Christmas was not his favorite holiday, Crowley thought he could get used to the way that Aziraphale celebrated. As far as he could tell, it involved lots of baked goods and plenty of laziness. They both had oodles of vacation days left, so they handed them in for the entire week between Christmas and New Year’s. Crowley spent nearly all that time at the bookshop, save for a quick trip to his flat to check on the plants.

On Christmas Eve they stayed in bed all morning, rising at noon to rustle up lunch with whatever Aziraphale had in his fridge. Crowley made a grocery run for Christmas dinner supplies, some baking ingredients, and an assortment of snacks that he thought Aziraphale might like. When he returned, Aziraphale made them each a cup of tea and they cuddled up together on the sofa to do nothing much at all.

Christmas morning dawned crisp and sunny, and Aziraphale woke Crowley with soft kisses along the back of his neck. He told Crowley he wanted to give him his Christmas gift, and Crowley thought it was a euphemism until Aziraphale nudged him out of bed. Aziraphale gave him two parcels wrapped in gold paper, one of which was a handsome cookbook filled with recipes for decorative breads. The other was an absurdly complicated watch that Crowley had admired one day when they went window shopping. He knew the watch was expensive, and the fact that Aziraphale had remembered it made him feel that his own gifts were rather silly. But Aziraphale swooned over the hardback editions of Georgette Heyer novels and said he couldn’t wait for the first installment of the monthly tea subscription box. 

Much of the afternoon saw Crowley holed up in the flat’s cramped and warm kitchen, trying his damndest to create a Christmas feast. Once or twice, Aziraphale hovered in the doorway, asking if he could do anything. But Crowley told him to just relax, and he found him reading one of the Heyer novels when he brought him a cup of tea later on. At long last, the feast was ready, and though it had been tiring, it was all worth it to see the look on Aziraphale’s face when he took his first bite of the succulent beef roast.

With the leftovers safely put away, Crowley laid on the sofa with his head in Aziraphale’s lap. He drifted off to sleep as Aziraphale read him some of _Cotillion_ and stroked his hair. 

They lived off the remnants of the Christmas feast for several days, nibbling here and there as Aziraphale made his way through the Heyer novels and Crowley flipped through his new cookbook. They watched mindless programs on Aziraphale’s ancient telly, they drank wine all evening and had inane conversations about sea creatures, they made love in the afternoon, and then again at night. It was a blissful existence, it felt like too much indulgence, but Crowley couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. The way he saw it, they deserved this. 

Then suddenly it was New Year’s Eve, and Aziraphale was huddled against him on the sofa as they flipped between Jools Holland and Alan Carr. 

“This is all a bit rubbish, can we agree on that?”

“Oh, of course. No one enjoys this nonsense.”

“Only I don’t know who any of these people are.” 

“Well, that’s a you problem, I’m afraid.” 

“I would say it’s because I’ve gotten old, but I’ve always been this way.” 

“Oh, yeah? Toddling around primary school, wondering who Led Zeppelin were?”

“Yes, all right. Honestly, just because I didn’t know about Queen…” 

“That’s sacrilege, that is! You thought I was just wearing a t-shirt promoting _the Queen_? As in, Her Royal Highness?” 

“Well, I don’t know. Some people wear t-shirts with the strangest slogans these days.” 

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale closer and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He didn’t care how clueless the man was about pop culture, he’d never let him go. “There’s always Graham Norton, I think. Jools, Alan, and Graham -- the three harbingers of I don’t know what.” 

“Isn’t it time for the fireworks?” 

“Nearly. Don’t worry, we won’t miss them.” 

Aziraphale sat up to reach for his cup of tea. After a few hearty sips, he leaned back and looked at Crowley, a softness about his eyes. “It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it?” 

“I’d say that’s an understatement.” 

“When I started this year, I didn’t even know you,” said Aziraphale. “And now I can’t imagine life without you.” 

This sentiment wasn’t exactly new; he and Aziraphale had said many sappy things to each other in the previous months. Yet each new declaration seemed to hit Crowley anew, reminding him all over again that he and Aziraphale were together and all seemed to be going well. 

“It’s funny,” said Crowley. “Last year at this time I was drinking substandard wine with Anathema and she forced me to set goals for my year or some nonsense. I said I wanted to meet someone. Said I was tired of being lonely, and that it was time to get my shit together. I never imagined it would happen like this.” 

Aziraphale laid his hand on Crowley’s cheek, and Crowley leaned into the touch. “You changed my life, my dear.” 

“Oh, angel, _you_ changed your life,” said Crowley. He gently took Aziraphale’s hand from his cheek and squeezed their fingers together. “Maybe I was some small part of it. But leaving Gabriel and building something new? That was all you.” 

Aziraphale gave him a shaky smile and leaned in for a kiss. “You’re too kind to me.”

“Just reporting the facts,” said Crowley. 

“How much time have we got?” 

“Enh...about ten minutes?” 

“Right.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and fixed Crowley with a determined look. “As we close out the year, I want to be perfectly clear with you about my intentions -- I would very much like to keep seeing you. Do you feel the same way?” 

Crowley smiled fondly at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I feel the same way. Now to make my intentions clear…” 

He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and pulled him into a kiss. Aziraphale smiled against his lips and returned the kiss in earnest. For a while the telly was ignored, but Aziraphale pulled back suddenly and said, “Wait! We’ll miss the fireworks!”

* * * * * *

_Nine months later_

Aziraphale’s birthday fell on a Saturday that year, which meant that he began his day wrapped in Crowley’s embrace. As he slowly came awake, he did his best not to move, not wanting to disturb Crowley. He let his eyes drift shut again as he concentrated on the feel of Crowley’s warm breath against his neck. Sometimes he found it hard to believe that he got to have this closeness with someone he loved so dearly. But today it didn’t seem inconceivable; he simply let himself relax into it. 

Until, that is, he remembered a conversation he’d had with Crowley about surprises.

“They can be all right,” he’d said. “You know, surprise -- that author you love has come out with a book you weren’t expecting. Surprise -- there are five pastries in this bag when you only ordered four. But sometimes it feels like too much pressure, like the person with the surprise is waiting for my reaction.” 

“Mm, that’s fair,” Crowley had replied, looking a bit nervous. “What if you didn’t have the specifics, but you knew a surprise was coming? What if I promised there was no pressure or expectation for your reaction?” 

Aziraphale had stared at him, knowing that his asking the question meant he already had something up his sleeve. “Well. Is it for this weekend, or further in the future?” 

Crowley had chuckled, knowing he was caught out. “The future, but not too far.” 

“I suppose that’s fine,” Aziraphale had said. “Though now I shall have to put it out of my mind somehow.” 

After that, the conversation had been given up in favor of more physical pursuits, as Crowley showed him that he could occupy his mind with other things in the meantime. 

But now it was his birthday, a day on which surprises traditionally occurred. There had been nothing momentous or extravagant in the time between that conversation and now, so perhaps it was time. Or perhaps Crowley was playing an extraordinarily long game, and the surprise wouldn’t occur until Christmas. Or perhaps it wouldn’t come to fruition for years, and as Aziraphale laid there, knotted up in his thoughts, he was reminded of why he disliked most surprises.

He was trying to work out what to do when he heard Crowley’s sultry voice from behind him, “Happy Birthday, angel. Feel any older?” 

Aziraphale smiled and shifted so that he was facing Crowley. “Not particularly. But this does feel different to my last birthday.”

Crowley hummed and ran his fingers up and down Aziraphale’s spine. “Good, that’s my goal for the day. How do you want to start your birthday, love?” 

“I’ll give you a hint.” Aziraphale reached under the duvet and palmed the front of Crowley’s briefs, admiring the way his eyes drifted shut and his lips quirked up into a smile. 

“Hmm,” he said. “Not sure I get it. Could you be more _explicit_?”

The morning rather slipped away from them, but Aziraphale didn’t mind. He gazed up at Crowley as he pressed inside him, murmuring sweet promises to make this a good day. He pulled him down into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as Crowley shifted his hips and brushed his prostate. It wasn’t just the sex, it was the feeling of being surrounded by Crowley’s love, as though it emanated from him and created a forcefield. Aziraphale knew it sounded absurd, but it sometimes felt like that, like being enveloped in a warm blanket of affection. 

Afterward, they lay in a post-coital stupor before stretching and shuffling to the bathroom, where they showered together. The presence of Crowley lengthened any shower by at least fifteen minutes, but it was worth it to see the look on his face as Aziraphale massaged shampoo into his hair. They washed each other and exchanged soft kisses, and it was another reminder of the love and closeness he’d been blessed with. 

When Crowley disappeared into the kitchen to make them some brunch, Aziraphale remembered the impending surprise. He spiralled for a moment, sitting on the edge of his bed, and then remembered that Crowley was not Gabriel. If there was something he wanted to discuss, he could mention it to Crowley and it wouldn’t cause them to fall apart. 

“My dear,” he said, standing at the kitchen door. “I need to ask you something. Do you remember when we talked about surprises, a few months back?” 

Crowley paused very briefly and then continued shuffling the eggs around the frying pan. “Yeah.” 

“Well, I can’t stop thinking about it. I know surprises are meant to be pleasant, and you’re not meant to know when they’ll happen, but I’m afraid it’s driving me round the bend.” 

Crowley looked up, concern on his face at the tone in Aziraphale’s voice. “Hey. Hey, I don’t want to drive you round the bend, angel. I was gonna tell you over brunch, but I’ll just tell you now, okay? I made us some dinner reservations for tonight.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, letting out a sigh of relief. “Is that all, my dear? That sounds wonderful. Thank you, that’s a lovely surprise.” 

“That’s not all,” said Crowley. He switched off the hob and turned to face him. “The reservations are for the Ritz.” 

Aziraphale thought he must have misheard. Could it be? How was it that his life seemed to get better with each passing day? “Oh, my God. _Crowley._ ”

“What? Is it good or bad? Does it bring up bad memories? Fuck, I was worried about that. Just tell me, angel, and I’ll cancel it.” 

“Don’t you _dare_ , don’t you dare cancel it, you sweet, wonderful man,” Aziraphale gushed. He held Crowley by the shoulders and kissed him all over his face -- his cheeks, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips. “I love you.” 

Crowley giggled, a bit overcome by all the kissing. “I love you, too.” 

“Oh, my dear,” said Aziraphale, folding Crowley into a hug. “What a wonderful surprise.”

“Enh? You see? They can be good sometimes,” said Crowley. He hugged him back and kissed his cheek. “You still want brunch?”

“Ooh, yes,” said Aziraphale, releasing his grip on him. “Please, carry on.” 

The weather was fair, so they decided to walk to the Ritz that evening. As the building came into view, Aziraphale remembered one year earlier, when he’d stood beneath the overhang and waited for Gabriel. He remembered the humiliating phone call and the way the wind had taken his umbrella, the feeling of hopelessness as he’d sat on the train in his wet clothes. But then there had been Crowley, approaching him so tentatively and then lending him his umbrella. 

“It’s not just my birthday, you know,” said Aziraphale, as they settled in at their table. “It’s also our anniversary, in a way.” 

“Oh, I dunno about that,” said Crowley. “One of our anniversaries, maybe. I think we should take it from that first dinner at Mango.”

“Yes, but this was when you first spoke to me. And you made such a gallant gesture, giving me your umbrella. It’s such a romantic story, my dear.”

Crowley smiled at him. “You wouldn’t mind sharing your birthday with an anniversary?”

“Of course not.” Aziraphale reached out to take his hand. “Besides, talking to you made my birthday so much more pleasant. And who wouldn’t like more reasons to celebrate a day?”

“Right, so we’ll have the umbrella anniversary, and the Mango anniversary,” said Crowley, holding up his fingers for each one. “Mustn’t forget the first time you showed me the bookshop, and the first time we had--”

“Ooh, not at the Ritz,” said Aziraphale, glancing around, as though their fellow diners had heard Crowley nearly allude to their sex life. 

“A thousand pardons,” said Crowley, with a smirk. “I forgot myself in these hallowed halls.” 

They had the duck liver to start, though Aziraphale ate most of it while Crowley nibbled. For mains, Aziraphale chose the lamb and Crowley had the beef. Though Aziraphale offered to share, Crowley insisted that he get his own dessert. So he chose the chocolate souffle, and he savored every last bite while Crowley drank his coffee and watched him with great interest. As he dabbed his mouth with the impeccable cloth napkin, Aziraphale caught Crowley’s eye. There was such affection in his gaze that Aziraphale nearly began to cry. As it was, he simply laid one hand on his chest and the other on top of Crowley’s hand.

“I cannot thank you enough for this,” he said. “It was utterly wonderful, and I’m so grateful that I got to experience it with you.”

“You’re welcome, angel,” said Crowley. He took Aziraphale’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing his knuckles gently. “Happy birthday.” 

They walked home slowly, full of rich food and love for each other, holding hands and casting glances at each other. Aziraphale was sure that onlookers would find them disgustingly sweet, too cloying in their obviously smitten state, but he didn’t care. The world could have been ending around them, and he might not have noticed.

As they neared the shop, an idea came to him. This idea had come to him several times in the previous year, but he'd brushed it aside, considering it too soon. Now, at the end of what may have been his only perfect birthday, Aziraphale felt it was time to at least ask the question. He paused at the door to the shop and took Crowley’s hands into his own. 

“My dear, how do _you_ feel about surprises?” he asked. 

“Me?” Crowley shrugged his shoulders and emitted a series of noises, as was his wont, until words came to him. “I dunno, I’m generally all right with them. If you’re involved, I reckon I’ll like whatever it is.” 

Aziraphale beamed at him. “I want you to know there’s absolutely no pressure to answer now, and I don’t expect anything from you. But you’re so important to me, and you make every part of my life better, so I simply must ask. Would you like to live with me, in the flat above the shop?” 

Crowley’s eyes went misty immediately, and he smiled shakily at him. “Really?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, clutching his hands. “I know it’s a bit soon. Too soon, perhaps. Goodness, it hasn’t even been a year, not really. But you spend so much time here anyway, my dear, and I’d love to wake up with you and ride the train to work with you. You could put your pain pills in my medicine cabinet.” 

Crowley let out a bark of laughter, and then bit his lip. “Stop it, you old romantic. You’re gonna kill me right here on the street.” 

“I know, it’s not exactly a romantic sentiment, but…”

“No, I meant it,” said Crowley. He leaned in and rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “It’s incredibly romantic. I want to put my pills in your medicine cabinet. Though now that I say it, it sounds like a really bad euphemism.”

Aziraphale laughed, his head thrown back and his eyes shut. Crowley let go of his hands and settled one on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. 

“Wait,” said Aziraphale, his hands on Crowley’s chest. “Just to be clear, was that a yes?” 

“Yes!” said Crowley. “Yes, absolutely yes.” 

“Oh, good,” said Aziraphale, and he leaned in to kiss him again. 

They stayed like that for a while, though the night was growing colder. As Crowley held him close, Aziraphale realized they were mere blocks from the station where he’d first got on the train and seen Crowley. Physically, he hadn’t moved very far, they were still so close to where their relationship had begun. But in all the ways that mattered, they were each worlds away from who they’d been on that train just a year earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this whole chapter an apology for the misery I put these guys (and you) through earlier in the story.
> 
> This fic has been so much fun to write, and it has kept me afloat during many weeks. Aside from the writing of it, all of your feedback has been an absolute boon to my mental health. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve just grinned at my screen while reading your comments. Every single one of you (even if you never commented) is a precious bean. Thank you for reading. <3
> 
> Finally, credit where credit is due, the chapter titles in this fic all come from Carly Rae Jepsen, but the title comes from the song “Bookshop Casanova” by The Clientele. 
> 
> Come and hang out on tumblr, I’m @truncated-symphony there.


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